Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a dark, cloudy night in Coast City. The crisp winter air whipped through the streets, biting the fingers and noses of those who roamed the damp alleyways. 

One of those people was a handsome young man in his mid-twenties. This particular man was trekking to his destination with purpose, his thick combat boots thudding loudly on the pavement, announcing his approach. He was not dressed for the cold, but knowing he’d be moving around a lot tonight had swayed his decision in clothes. His worn jeans had begun to fray at the hem, several strands of thread dragged through puddles as he walked. Tucked into the waist of those jeans and concealed by his jacket was a twelve-inch crowbar, just in case things got messy. The black leather bomber jacket the man wore over his broad shoulders would keep the worst of the chill out, at least until he got to the docks. 

He’d foregone his hand-me-down aviator jacket, for once. It had always carried a strange sort of comfort, but it also carried his surname in block capitals. ‘Stealth’ was the keyword for this mission.

In one gloved hand, he held a flimsy plastic shopping bag. The other was tucked cozily into his jacket pocket, his fist clutching a distinctive emerald ring.

At last, Hal Jordan came to a stop outside the shipyard he’d been told about - the one that held the weaponry that Earth’s Green Lantern had been tracking for weeks. A warehouse stood at the back of the yard, just before the concrete gave way to the sea. There were masked goons patrolling the area, which was surrounded by a maze of stacked metal shipping containers. Somewhere, one of those containers held thousands of dollars’ worth of new illegal firearms; dubbed ‘Lantern Killers’ by the Coast City underground. Hal did not appreciate being made to sound like a particularly pesky roach problem that some hack in a cheap lab could profit off of.

As Hal approached the perimeter, he crept behind a shipping container and pulled his disguise out of the shopping bag in his hand. It was a black hockey mask, identical to the ones worn by the patrolling gang. It was emblazoned with V-shaped streak of yellow that ran from both temples, over the eyeholes and met on the bridge of the nose. The mask’s eyeholes were covered with glass lenses and had been subtly fitted with a rebreather. Hal guessed that since the gang’s growing popularity had most likely boosted them onto some police watch lists, they were covering their bases against militant offence tactics like pepper-spray and tear gas. Hal slid the hockey mask over his face.

This disguise had been an unwilling gift from a member of the gang that he’d cornered in an alley. The man had been sloppily following him for hours, writing notes about the Green Lantern fighting style and cataloguing which attacks had landed hits on him. After he’d been found out, the goon had been relatively easy to crack.

Most of the information had been stuff Hal had already known: the gang was a relatively new group named ‘The Suppliers’ that specialised in the buying and selling of weaponry for Super-villains. They had created a market by purchasing a villain’s munitions and selling them on to other villains to use against their heroic counterparts (Hal had found this out the hard way when Hector Hammond almost screwed him over by using tech made by Mirror Master, one of Barry’s Central City felons).

Hal had yet to find out which villain’s MO would be used against him in these new ‘Lantern-Killers’, but he sure knew he didn’t want them in the hands of his enemies.

Hal had to admit, it was a pretty solid business idea: the switching of MOs was something that could easily take a hero by surprise. Especially heroes like Batman, who learned their villain’s MOs forwards and backwards and laid out approximately 600 contingency plans based on that particular rogue’s habits and thought process. The Bat would be royally screwed if Mr Freeze came at him with tech fresh from Heat Wave’s artillery. Hal intended on being the one the Bat had to grunt a thanks to when he single-handedly dealt with the entire operation. 

But unfortunately for the goon, none of this was news to the Green Lantern.

After utilising a few of his more ‘advanced’ interrogation techniques (curtesy of the best mentors Oa had to offer; thanks, Kilowog), the thug finally spilt the location of the shipyard where the Lantern-Killers were being kept. He’d even given Hal the general whereabouts of the container that held those weapons. Apparently, were supposed to be in a yellow shipping container labelled ‘Jack O’ Lantern INC’ on the east side of the warehouse. 

With those notes in mind, Hal snuck out from his hiding place and slipped into the easy ranks of the patrolling goons. 

In order to break into a yellow container, he’d need a physical weapon as his ring’s stupid yellow impurity would make no impact. He couldn’t just fly in wearing green and bust the lock with crowbar either - Lanterns were nothing if not eye-catching - there would be a hundred thugs on top of him by the time he got to the prize. 

Another problem: physical weapons were frustratingly loud. He needed a distraction to draw the guards away before he went clanging on any metal containers with no ring on. 

And that’s where his partner came in. 

Green Lantern John Stewart was stationed a couple of miles above him, concealed in the foggy, overcast sky. He was awaiting Hal’s signal to start raining bright, harmless blasts into the west side of the region, drawing the guards’ attention while Hal busted open the shipping container on the east side and stole the crates of weapons to destroy later. 

Sure, Hal had said he was handling this operation ‘single-handedly’, but John heard about the Lantern-Killers too, and wanted in on it. As a peace offering, he’d come up with the working plan. Considering Hal’s previous plan hadn’t gone any further than ‘fly to the container and find a way to bust it open’, he had begrudgingly given in. It was better, even though John’s idea was a lot more dependent on stealth than Hal was typically used to.

The Lantern prowled through the labyrinth of containers incognito style, not bothering to suppress the smirk that played on his lips every time he fooled another guard. Maybe he did enjoy the less direct approach. Sometimes, a gutsy, daredevil pilot from California will want to blow up a container full of firearms, and other times, said pilot will want to feel like James Bond or Agent 47. The duality of a Green Lantern, he guessed.

When Hal had been making his way through the shipyard for twenty minutes or so, he finally found what he’d been searching for. Before him stood a wall of containers, each stack at varying, staggered heights, making a convenient staircase directly to his golden target. 

He’d definitely be seen climbing up there, so it was time to activate Earth’s 3rd Green Lantern. 

He whipped out his phone and sent a quick text.

Jet Jockey: its go time!! >;)

Jarhead: *It’s

Jet Jockey: you can’t seriously be a marine AND a grammar nazi pick a struggle 

He waited for all of thirty seconds before texting again.

Jet Jockey: Ay wheres my light show

Jarhead: There may be a third party. 2 new body heat signatures avoiding the guards + headed your way. Could want to steal weapons to sell on.

Jet Jockey: I’ll snatch these things quickly

Jet Jockey: hurrY UP

Not a second later, a shower of green comets rained down on the west side, each trail of light no doubt hitting tactfully harmless spots, as preconceived by John. Shouts of alarm rang out into the night, warning their comrades that the Green Lantern of Coast City had arrived. In a way, Hal guessed, they were right, and that Green Lantern was about to rob them of any hope of defeating him.

Hal pressed himself into a gap between the stacks and waited for the herd of patrolling guards to flock to the light like moths, leaving their golden goose completely exposed. He figured that if the ‘third party’ was avoiding guards, a crowd of them running their way would slow them down too. As soon as the last set of hurried footsteps passed his hiding place, Hal shuffled out into the open and began to hoist himself up the staircase of containers.

Clambering up without his ring was loud. Every step reverberated off every other container in the area, but Hal didn’t need his green right now. He certainly didn’t go through eight weeks of Air Force boot camp just to use magic for everything. He was not dependant on his ring, no matter how much Batsy grunted and huffed during those stupid ‘zero-power sparring sessions’ he’d enforced on the League.

Still, he found himself wishing he could just fly, or conjure himself an actual, much less physically taxing staircase. Or an elevator. The possibilities were so endless, it was hard not to want to be in uniform all the time (minus flight time at Ferris Air). But a voice in his head reminded him that putting on his ring would mean gaining his Green Lantern suit, and neither the suit nor the glowing constructs would help his ‘stealth’ mission. Especially since the container with the weapons was already far too high and open, and even with the distraction raging on the other side of the warehouse, a second green light would be very easy to spot in the pitch black of a January night. Hal pointedly ignored that the voice of reason in his mind had the same gravelly Gotham accent as a certain vigilante vampire-wannabe. 

During the last Justice League mission, Hal’s constant green aura had been the give-away that had started a firefight, and the stealth-obsessed Bat had been less than pleased - prompting a whole lecture-turned-yelling-match as soon as they arrived back at the watchtower. Hal had defended himself, but even he had to admit that Batman had a point. He did need to work on his stealth skills. Not that he would ever confess to the madman of crime city himself.

Finally, Hal reached the doors of the shipping container. Those Lantern Killers would be in his hands long before the ‘third party’ John had mentioned even knew he was there.

Now all he had to do was smash open this lock. Easy peasy. 

He grabbed the small crowbar he’d tucked into the back of his jeans, jammed the claw under the lock box and pulled with all his might. It took a minute longer than he’d like to admit. Maybe he had been relying on his ring a bit too much lately. The box fell to his feet with a resounding clatter, and Hal wasted no time in flinging the doors open. 

The narrow container was covered floor to ceiling with oblong wooden crates, one of which had been cracked open during their shipment. Hal pried off the splintering lid and peered inside. 

The crate was crammed with what seemed to be homemade flame-throwers, or something similar. They were painted completely yellow, no doubt to exploit the yellow impurity. Aerosol tanks were fitted where the scope would be been on a regular firearm, and the nozzle was wide - good for deploying gas. 

A flap of fabric reached Hal’s ear. The distant green light of John’s ruse no longer washed over the contents of the crate. His peripheral vision was impaired by the mask he wore, but Hal could sense that the third party had arrived. How on this good green Earth had they gotten up the containers without making so much as a half-decibel of noise?

Hal made no move, save for the way his gloved hands subconsciously gripped the crate a fraction tighter. Would these guns be lethal on anyone, or just Green Lanterns? Would it be wrong to threaten them with one even if they thought he was just another gang member?

“I wouldn’t try that.” The man rumbled.

Hal felt his blood pressure rise. Of course. Of course he’d be here. Why not? The case was none of his business, so if Hal didn’t invite him, that guy felt it was only fair that he invited himself. 

He felt his jaw set and his nose wrinkle. His mind supplied an everlasting string of curse words, none of them quite strong enough to convey his seething annoyance. Frankly, Hal was surprised a Red Ring hadn’t yet flown in to welcome him to his new corps. He leaned heavier on the crate, trying to get a hold of himself before he did something too stupid, even for him.

Only one man had the nerve, the audacity and the stupid gravelly voice to make him see red with just four little words. Of all the insufferable jerks he could’ve ran into on this mission - what was HE doing here?

“Batman,” Hal greeted dryly. That was the only name he knew him by. When the rest of the League had chosen to share their identities, the Gothamite had stayed silent. 

“Thought you could nab some of the prize money for yourself, huh? I bet your boss wouldn’t like that,” a young voice piped up. The boy’s accent was tinged with the posh lilts of Gotham higher-ups, though he was obviously trying to mask it. “It’s over, buddy. Step away from the crate.” 

Hal looked up to the metal ceiling in defeat, taking a deep breath and wishing he’d put on the ring as soon as he got the door open. Maybe then he could’ve grabbed the crates before having to deal with this. ‘He’s even brought his little sidekick,’ he thought. ‘Guardians give me strength. Now I can’t even cuss out the big man.’ Hal dropped his gaze from the roof and directed it over his shoulder to better see the vigilantes he knew and loathed.

And there, in the middle of Coast City on a Thursday night, stood Batman and Robin, in all their gothic glory. 

Bats looked almost the same as always. His themed cowl was tight, and his cape rippled dramatically in the breeze like he was on a freakin’ movie set. Somehow, even the moon had positioned itself to Batman’s advantage: he was perfectly backlit, his face shrouded in shadow. The only change to his uniform was an extension to his cowl that now covered his nose and mouth. Circular air filters were embedded into each side, and Hal was certain that if Batman breathed audibly, he would sound like Darth Vader’s fursona. The only features Hal could clearly see was the blank, narrowed lenses that were glaring directly into his own eyes. The Bat was lowered and ready to knock Hal’s lights out at a moment’s notice, but even when he was slightly shorter, he still cut an intimidating figure. His bulky, muscular form blocked a good portion of the exit.

Next to him stood a twiggy little teenager dressed in a black cape and air-filtering face mask to match his mentor. This Robin stood out as being the only bat-sidekick to have pants - his two predecessors weren’t so lucky in that department. A domino mask covered his eyes, and a yellow ‘R’ badge was emblazoned on his chest. The kid was pointing a bo staff at Hal’s throat. 

Hal had never liked that Batman brought waist-high children out into the streets, but even he had to admit that they must have been thoroughly trained before being allowed to tag along. Their quick jabs and quicker wits were proof enough of that. He used to think that having Batman around them 24/7 would cement their safety, but… well. The second kid didn’t get to retire. That’s probably why Hal didn’t harbour much love for the third bird. Did Batman really get to just… hire a new partner? Ion knows Hal couldn’t have wrangled together a new crew after what happened to Aya. 

(Maybe a part of what bothered him about the new Robin was how much he had in common with the AI. The way he spouted figures like it was his second language and interfaced with computers as if they were part of him… it gave Hal a sense of déjà vu that he’d rather not address.)

“This isn’t your city,” Hal said, his voice sharp with warning. He pushed himself up from leaning on the crate and turned to face them, hoping his impassive mask wasn’t toning down his irritation. “Why aren’t you people two-and-a-half thousand miles away from me?”

The Bat only narrowed his eyes, seemingly realising that something hadn’t gone according to his usual script. Hal swore he could see the cogs in his head turning, calculating, even though barely a muscle had moved. The little bird bought him some time to mull it over with a light-hearted shrug.

“Greenie’s been slacking. Unlucky for you, you get us instead.”

Hal spluttered. So the kid had picked up some C- grade trash talk since he’d last seen him. Hooray.

“Wh- hey-! I have not been-!”

Hal’s offence gave Batman all the clues he needed. The Gothamite gave a grunt as he straightened, melting out of his fighting stance. Green Lantern was his ally (however tenuous that alliance might be), but still, Hal felt a stab of disappointment that the Bat thought a low-ranking gang thug required more caution than a ticked off ring-slinger. Now at his full towering hight, Batman gave a single brisk nod of acknowledgement. 

“Lantern.”

“Spooky,” Hal snarled back. “I don’t remember chanting your name three times. Who let you out of your crusty lump of dystopian hellscape?” Batman’s lip curled in annoyance.

“I’m following a lead. Step aside and let us handle this.”

“Step aside? This is my case.” Hal challenged, ripping off the dumb hockey mask and waving it in Batman’s face. “If I had tracked these weapons to Gotham, you’d’ve tasered me for trespassing! Get lost!”

There was something about that costumed prick that just made Hal lose his cool every time.

Bzzt bzzt! 

Hal sent a withering glare towards Batman before he reached into his pocket and read the text.

Jarhead: DISTRACTION LOSING EFFECT. GET OUT NOW

“I gotta split, Batsy,” Hal said, stuffing the phone back in his pocket and pulling out his ring. “Feel free to let yourself out.” 

The sounds of thundering feet and the barking of orders filled the air. Hal slipped on his ring and allowed the buzz of raw energy to spread through his veins like an electric current. As his uniform phased into place, he flexed his fingers and felt the crackle of power surge at his command. Time to go.

Hal let his eyes flick to the exit, already knowing what he’d find. The Bat and the Bird were gone. good. Now Hal could lift these crates (not painted yellow, thank the stars. The Suppliers must have thought no hero would find out about this operation so soon - the yellow container being only serving as a precaution) and get them… well, he’d get them somewhere that wasn’t here. John probably knew where. He was sure he’d told him earlier.

Soon enough, Hal felt the whip of the cold wind on his face as he rose above the dock, the crates of firearms following in his wake. He hovered for a moment, wondering if he could leave Batman to handle things down there. It was his city, after all. Then again, the vigilantes of Gotham were as averse to receiving help from Hal as Hal was to giving them a hand. No love lost.

He set his sights on the stars and powered up, ready to take off into the night. 

“LOOK OUT!”

Hal barely had time to register the warning buzz from his ring before a beam of searing hot energy pierced two of the crates, splitting them like a hot knife through butter. The blast left Hal’s ears ringing. The aerosol tanks on the firearms exploded, forcing a sickly yellow gas into the Lantern’s lungs. His shields had no effect on it. Hal coughed and wheezed, faintly aware that his hold on the rest of the crates had slipped. He fell with them.

Chapter Text

Batman had sent Robin home. He had told his partner that he needed him to run some evidence through the computer, but Bruce could have done that on the Watchtower himself. In truth, he simply didn’t want Tim to see what came next. 

Six months ago, Scarecrow had sent out a large shipment of fear gas from the Gotham docks. Batman and Robin had been unable to stop them in time, but Bruce had been able to attach a tracker to the ship’s stern before it got too far. 

The ship had taken a long, inconspicuous route to California, giving Batman more than enough time to piece together why the shipment was being made at all. The buyers were a new group, making steady money by purchasing shares of villain’s stocks, fashioning them into more widely useable weaponry and selling them on to other felons. 

Knowing this, it was easy to figure out where the gas was headed: Coast City, home of the man without fear. And what was a man without fear, if he is afraid? Just a man. Easy pickings for anyone of the criminal class, and everyone in Coast City’s underbelly would want a piece of the action. This gang were setting themselves up for a healthy profit. 

And so, they’d come prepared, suits equipped with rebreathers to keep the gas out should things get messy. 

Trust the madcap pilot to throw a spanner in the works. 

John Stewart had flown Bruce and Hal up to the Watchtower and carried his unconscious comrade to the Med Bay, while Bruce explained what the other Lantern had in his system. 

“Do people usually drop like stones after breathing that stuff?”

“No,” Batman grunted, already setting up his apparatus. He’d snagged a small sample of the new strain of Fear Gas back at the docks, and needed an antidote, stat. New Fear Toxins were always a worse than the last strain, and lately the effects had been getting more lethal. Hal most likely only had an hour or two, maybe less. He pulled up a list of the toxin’s main components in an attempt to break down what was needed to counteract the effects. “This particular strain has been laced with a central nervous system depressant. That’s why he passed out. The ring’s defences will have burned through most of it by now.”

“Good. Even if the ring doesn’t purge the toxin in time, it’ll hold it off. Give you time to make an antidote.”

“No.” Curse the lunatic that came up with magic, Bruce thought. They always manage to make my job infinitely harder. “For some reason, the ring is only neutralising the sedative and leaving the hallucinogen.”

“It’s categorising,” John realised, peering at the screen over Batman’s shoulder. “Seeing sedative as separate from the primary Fear Gas. It’s targeting the substance causing Hal to remain unconscious, and, as far as the ring is aware, keeping him completely vulnerable. Once it’s gone, Hal will wake up and be able to defend himself. Then the ring will start depleting the main toxin.”

Batman ground his teeth, wishing the world outside Gotham could even pretend to make logical sense. “You’re suggesting that your glowing space jewellery purges the relatively harmless sedative before a potentially lethal substance?”

John shrugged. He shrugged. Batman could practically feel the last shreds of his sanity slipping down the drain. He did not understand people.

“Like I said, the ring is taking away the thing making Hal vulnerable. He’s a sitting duck to any lowlife if he can’t defend himself. Worst case scenario, the ring would rather Hal be able to fight while in a bad way than have him be completely open to attack while it rids his system of a poison. That’s probably why the sedative was added in the first place. Fear might be a Green Lantern’s kryptonite, but you can count on every last one of us to go down swinging.”

Batman grunted in acknowledgment. He could see the iota of logic in that.

“Well right now, it’s a hinderance. We want him asleep for as long as possible. The last thing we want is a man in a terror-driven rampage with the most powerful weapon in the universe on his finger.”

There was a pause as John considered his words.

“I’ll take off his ring.”

“Hn. Strap him down too.”

John hummed in distaste but secured his predecessor’s wrists to the cot after slipping the ring off his finger. Hal’s civvies flashed back into existence as John encased the power ring in a construct of a mason jar. He then dragged a chair over to his friend’s bedside and rested a hand on his shoulder, trusting Batman to fix Hal a cure.

The heroes’ tense silence was a weighty blanket over the medical wing. The constant hum of the lights was enough to drive one insane - unfortunately, having a headquarters in outer space meant there was almost zero natural light, and so the bulbs were necessary, if annoying. Bruce forced the sound to the back of his mind, and mutely continued his calculations. He could tell that the keyboard’s relentless clicking was starting to get on the Lantern’s nerves too, but if it was going to help his fellow Corps member pull through, he knew John would deal with it in irritated silence. 

Minutes passed. Bruce finished piecing together an antidote, but it would take a while longer for the computer to fully formulate it. 

That’s when Hal started to stir. 

Batman had been dealing with Jonathan Crane’s Fear Toxin for most of his vigilante career. He’d studied every strain and invented several vaccines that nullified the gas’s effects within minutes. He knew that the drug was a hallucinogen that caused the victims to witness their worst nightmares, triggering their fight, flight or freeze instincts - most chose to fight, ergo making the scenes of unbridled, fear-driven chaos that Scarecrow lived for. There had been no doubt in Bruce’s mind that Hal would be a fighter.

Batman was rarely wrong.

Hal’s screams shook the walls of the Watchtower. He struggled and kicked, yelling to be freed so he could sic himself on whatever monstrosity he saw. He cried for his friends, wanting with every atom of willpower in his body to protect them. John could almost see the mangled bodies in Hal’s glassy eyes. The heart monitor they’d hooked up to him was beeping a panicked crescendo, getting faster and more ear-splitting as seconds passed. The restraints strapped across the length of Hal’s body strained under his force.  John could only be grateful that the man before him was just a human. 

tink tiNK TINK T-TINK TINK T-TINK-

Hal's Power Ring, sensing its master's distress, threw itself desperately against the mason jar construct it was being held captive in. It clanked relentlessly against the glass like a ping pong ball at ten times the rate, only speeding up as Hal's screams became more distraught. The ring's glow was dangerously bright. Its frustration was nearly palpable through the construct.

“The antitoxin,” Batman announced, striding towards the screaming Lantern, syringe in hand. “Hold him still.”

John complied, but not before frustratedly muttering about how the Bat had taken his sweet time. 

After a few seconds of wrestling, Batman managed to pierce the deltoid muscle and release the antitoxin into Hal’s system. He stood back, watching as the man’s defiant howls simmered into ragged-breathed begging. 

Both heroes silently agreed that the quiet, desperate pleading was infinitely worse.

“Please,” Hal breathed. “Please come back. Don’t do this. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

There was a pause. Presumably, the person Hal was addressing was answering. But one can only assume when just a single side of the conversation is heard.

“You were hurting,” Hal continued, his voice raw and pained. “I should’ve noticed earlier. I should’ve… come home. I can help, please come back.” He let out a choked gasp. “Aya, DON’T!”

Batman watched with a mildly sadistic intrigue as John’s stony face crumbled into a look of heartbreaking realisation. The Lantern reached out to hold his friend’s hand, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Of course, this did nothing. But Batman would guess that it was more for John’s comfort than Hal’s. Then again, he had never been great with people.

Who was Aya?

———

J’onn sincerely hoped no one was planning to break into the Watchtower tonight. Not that he would notice, while sitting in the monitor room with his head in his hands, trying desperately to block out the waves of fear and agony erupting from the med bay. 

J’onn did not like to complain. But why did it have to be his night on monitor duty?

‘At least the Watchtower is quiet tonight,’ he thought.

The first thing J’onn had heard was the screams. The yells of defiance and promises of revenge. Concerning, but not something he thought the other Leaguers couldn’t handle. Eventually, the wailing man would run out of fire and wear himself out.

But the man’s screams only worsened. His sheer panic must have overwhelmed him, for now it was overflowing, torrents of fear and pain slamming into J’onn like a tidal wave.

The images that forced themselves into the Martian’s mind were horrific. Flashes of crashing jets and exploding planets filled every crevice of his consciousness until his brain was searing with pain, ready to detonate. He saw war on every planet, including Earth. The sound of bombs going off and guns firing a million rounds a minute drowned out all his senses. Dark, derelict rooms filled with pained groans and the clanking of chains flooded his heart with fear and dread. The scenes looked warped and sounded slightly warbled, as if J’onn was watching them on a TV set with bad signal. 

Then everything fell silent. 

‘Finally,’ he thought, his shoulders lowering as he allowed himself to bask in his immediate relief. ‘It’s over.’

But one final scene leaked into the Martian’s psyche, one much more vivid than the previous memories.

He was floating in space, facing the remains of a devastated planet. Most of the debris was gone, but the person whose mind was melding with his own was certain that the planet used to be Earth. J’onn felt a weight settle in his arms. He looked down to see a girl, green in complexion and adorned with what was once pristine white armour - now greyed with dust and dirt and in a state of disrepair. Her eyes were shut, her posture lax. She could have been asleep. But he knew she was not. 

The man’s mind was riddled with mourning and pain.

J’onn knew this pain, had felt this same agony every day for decades. This state had become his normal, bleeding into his every thought, buzzing in the background of every decision he made. 

He stumbled towards the medical wing.

———

Aya’s face was blank as she glided towards planet Earth, her anti-matter beams already pointed at its surface. Somehow, Hal heard the pained screams of the populace from space, every last human mortified at the sight of their loved ones being sucked into pure nothingness. 

“Please,” Hal begged, banging his fists uselessly against the Anti-Monitor’s armour. “Please come back. Don’t do this. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

He was the last Lantern, the one Aya had chosen to see the demise of the universe, starting with his home. The deaths of his crew mates and corps members weighed on his soul. His Power Ring was almost dead, he had no more will. No more hope. Just a last ditch attempt to beg his little girl to stop. Tears were streaming down the Lantern’s face, but no show of emotion would turn a machine. 

“You were hurting. I should’ve noticed earlier. I should’ve… come home. I can help, please come back.” Earth shrank, the entire mass collapsing in on itself as it crumbled under the weight of it’s calculating conquerer. “Aya, DON’T!”

Then the nightmare crumbled, and Hal was left cradling a young girl’s body.

Chapter Text

The minutes after waking up were filled with a stifling air of silent judgment.

John had hovered suffocatingly close to Hal in the minutes before his escape from the med bay. He’d kept a strong hand on his shoulder, making Hal feel clammy and fidgety. His eyes, so often sharp as he assessed his peers and surroundings, were soft with pity. Hal despised the patronisation, but at very least John knew to keep quiet. 

He could already hear the ‘you should take the week off’ lecture the next time they were alone together. And John would talk with that slow Special Voice he used to calm down crying children after the Green Lanterns had fended off an attack - the soft, low voice that wormed its way under his skin and made Hal want to punch someone. At least he had had the decency to give him back his ring.

Batman had handled the situation like a doctor informing a patient about common surgeries. That is to say, he had spoken with the authority of someone who saw the effects of Fear Gas on a monthly basis - which, Hal reminded himself, he probably did. Gotham was one hellscape of a city. 

Hal had been distracted, but he’d heard the man mention Scarecrow and something about a shipment to Coast City. He was pretty sure what Batman was trying to tell him was about the toxin’s origins; what it was, who it came from, what it did, boring stuff like that. Nothing more, nothing less. This was perhaps the only time Hal had felt grateful for Batman’s constant professionalism and impersonality. He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or if the man simply couldn’t act any other way, but he preferred it over the awkwardness that radiated from John’s worried, unsure lingering.

Hal probably shouldn’t have been surprised that the Batman and John weren’t the only ones who showed up to his little impromptu pity party. The Watchtower was never deserted (Hal had Batman to thank for the strict roster). And if his raw throat was any indication, Hal had screamed pretty loudly.

The third Leaguer had been completely silent. They’d stood as a shadowy presence at the far side of the of the med bay - Hal’s range of awareness only stretched as far as Batman’s shoulder, which he stared at intently. It helped him pointedly ignore the echoes that reverberated off the walls of the room, the flashes of bodies in the corners of his vision, all mocking him for everything he’d failed to do.

He was waiting for the Gothamite to stop spewing bulletpoints so he could escape the watchful eyes he felt burning into his skin. 

Finally, Hal noticed that the echos and screams were no longer accompanied by the background drone of Spooky’s gruff voice. He figured that Batman must be finished, so Hal simply gave a brisk nod of acknowledgement (even though he’d hardly acknowledged a thing he’d said) and marched straight for the exit, keeping his eyes trained forward. Tunnel vision kept him from getting distracted by the phantom hands clawing at his arms and legs, pulling him back and moaning that this was all his fault.

Hal reached the door. But before he could step into the hallway and escape to his private quarters, a large hand landed on his shoulder, holding him in place. He gave a small grunt of frustration. The last thing he wanted right now was more sickening sympathetic glances. 

Hal’s dark eyes snapped to his captor. They connected with another pair, glowing red. The Martian Manhunter’s features were stony, but Hal could feel the slight tremble of his hand on his shoulder, could see the smallest tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. There was something else too, something not quite as stark. Waves of grief were emanating from J’onn, mixing with Hal’s own until he could no longer tell the two apart.

Then he just… understood.

“I am sorry,” J’onn consoled. The words didn’t feel empty. J’onn had lost his whole species. He knew Hal’s pain tenfold, he wasn’t just trying to make him feel better. But when he continued, the words hit Hal like a meteor to the stomach. “The loss of one’s child is the hardest pain to bear.”

His child. 

Because that’s what Aya was to him, wasn’t she? Not just a crew member he’d been close with.

She died so suddenly, and her final moments belonged with Razer. Hal would never be bitter towards either of those kids, they’d both worked so hard and grown so much to get to their story’s end. But he’d been silently aching to cradle her in his arms, to give her one final goodbye. Instead, he watched over Razer’s shoulder as Aya’s form decayed before his eyes. 

Hal had never given himself the time to think about what her death meant to him. Even when she was alive, there’d only been the beginnings of something, not enough to know what it was. He’d never given he and Aya’s relationship a solid label, because if he had, he might have let himself admit that he’d lost more than a friend. He’d been trying to protect himself without even realising. Had it always been so obvious to everyone else?

With a small jolt, Hal realised he was still standing frozen at the door of the med bay. His eyes had wandered from J’onn’s gaze, now staring absently into the space above the Martian’s shoulder. 

The silence was deafening. The three sets of eyes burning holes in his back were becoming unbearable. 

How long had he been standing here?

Hal shrugged off J’onn’s hand and tried to say something, anything, to brush off his colleague’s concern, but as soon as his mouth opened, he felt his throat close up in protest. He realised in the moment that nothing would scream ‘I’M NOT OKAY!’ like a dry sob. 

He took a deep breath, pretending that that was what he meant to do all along, and shut his mouth again.

And he marched out the door.

The echos of his footsteps reverberating off the metal walls was the only sound cutting through the heavy silence on the Watchtower.

No one followed him.

———

Hal felt exhausted.

The Green Lantern sat hunched over on the edge of the small bed in his private quarters, having escaped burning eyes of the med bay. His head was bowed low, as if someone had finally severed the puppet strings that had been keeping his chin held high for years. He rested his elbows on his thighs, letting his wrists dangle bonelessly in the space between his knees. His usually perfectly styled hair was unruly from his losing battle against the restraints.

He was silent, barely even allowing his breathing to shatter the deafening quiet of the small room.

He was thinking.

Everything he’d seen in the past few hours simultaneously drilled their way into the forefront of his mind. 

The harsh light of a roaring fire, slowly devouring a mangled jet. 

The empty vacuum of space where a thriving planet should have been. 

The dead, apathetic eyes of a heartbroken girl who never wanted to feel pain again.

That girl may have been officially honoured at a ceremony, but there were very few Green Lanterns that saw her as a hero after all she’d done. Even after she made the ultimate sacrifice to fix her mistakes. 

In the rare times that Aya came up in conversation in the Corps, her life and death was downplayed into ‘The AYA Programme’ and its ‘deletion’, as if she were nothing more than some corrupted line of code. A brief setback in the Corps’ mission for intergalactic justice. Just another name in the long list of foes vanquished. 

It sickened Hal that no one would ever know the real Aya like him and his crew. To them, she’d always be the innocent, up front and curious girl with a fierce edge who loved her friends to the point of giving her life for them. None of them had seen her betrayal coming. Hal would swear to a courtroom that there had been zero signs, up until the day it actually happened. She had always wanted to protect the innocent.

That’s all Aya had ever done. Even behind the apathetic mask she wore as the Aya-Monitor, her base functions remained the same. To protect herself, protect others. Razer’s rejection and Hal’s distraction had left her isolated, bearing a pain of betrayal so intense that it drove her to stop any other being from feeling the same way. Even if that meant feeling nothing at all.

Aya simply could not comprehend why suffering was necessary. 

If he was being honest, Hal didn’t either. 

He felt numb.

Every drop of energy had been sapped from his core by the weight of his grief and embarrassment. He felt like lying face-down on the floor and never getting up. Maybe that way he could skip ever having to think or talk about this night again for the rest of his life.

He’d lost a daughter.

A simple, agonising fact that he’d been ignoring since the day it happened, suddenly wrenched into the light for all to see. 

The sound of the door sliding open pulled him from his reverie. He looked up to see the hulking form of Batman in his doorway, looking extremely out of place. Normally the man liked to blend into the shadows, where his sweeping black cape and armoured gauntlets didn’t feel odd to look at. He had this power to bring a chill in the air, reminding the Lantern that some heroes used fear to their advantage (a fact that made Hal squirm after the Sinestro Corps was formed). When he was illuminated by the many artificial lights built into the Watchtower, Batman just looked like another middle aged guy headed for Comic Con. The sight of the Bat looking so uncomfortably separate from his natural habitat was almost enough to distract Hal for a moment.

An armoured hand reached out from the folds of the cape, holding out the bomber jacket Hal had been wearing earlier. Had that really only been a few hours ago?

“You left this in Med Bay,” Batman said, blunt as ever. Ion, he looked awkward. He’d clearly been in his element earlier, when he was spewing facts and figures, but the whole ‘Hal was a father’ bombshell was probably news to him. It was news to Hal too. But Batman prided himself on knowing every dirty little secret that the Justice Leaguers hid behind closed doors - knowing he missed something must have been a shock.

“Uh, thanks. Just toss it on the bed.” Hal waved vaguely to the empty space on the mattress. Batman complied, but made no move to leave. Hal heaved a sigh. “Listen Bats. I’ve had a rough night, so how about you spit out your little questionnaire and then leave me alone. You have questions, right?” 

Batman nodded stiffly. Of course. Ugh, his head was aching. He didn’t want to deal with all this right now. Or ever. 

Hal planted his head in his hands and resignedly listened to the man shuffle further into the room, then heard the whir of the mechanical door sliding shut behind him. A heavy weight settled beside him, making the mattress dip. Hal let one hand drop and propped his cheek on his fist, looked up at Batman and waited for the interrogation to begin. He wasn’t sure if a person could gain bags under their eyes over the course of a few hours, but he assumed he had. That was how exhausted he felt, anyways. 

Batman cleared his throat. He appeared more tense that Hal had ever seen him, even if the details were just barely there. His shoulders a little higher, his lips sightly pursed, his knees close together. It made his usual brooding stance seem open. 

After a second of tense silence, Batman cleared his throat again. His hesitance to start compelled Hal to raise an eyebrow, silently asking if he was finished being awkward about it. 

“Did John tell you anything?” He might as well get the ball rolling. Feelings were obviously new for their resident apathetic cosplayer.

“Not much. He’s only heard stories, said you never spoke about it.”

“Yeah. He was a rookie when it happened. Guy had just got promoted.” 

Silence snuffed out the conversation. Hal could tell that Batman was burning to ask what exactly had happened, but somehow, he knew not to ask. 

After a while, Batman tried again.

“Her name was Aya,” he said, more of a statement than the question it should’ve been. Maybe John had dropped a few details.

Hal straightened, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. Half the reason he had let Batman touch the subject is because he assumed he wouldn’t get too personal. Sure, confirming a name was hardly violating boundaries, but it felt like a gateway into something more private. What happened to the dead-eyed, detached Batman he knew and loved (derogatory)?

“Yeah. How’d you know?” His scratchy throat made the question sound more choked up than intended.

“You were talking to her. Asking her to come back.”

He’d said that out loud?

“Ugh. This is the worst.” Hal huffed a bitter laugh. Just how much had he said earlier?

Quiet settled over the room again. It was broken with the shifting of fabric as Batman raised his gloved hands to his cowl and after a second of hesitation, pulled it back. Hal’s eyebrows shot upward, his shock briefly blotting out the flurry of grief and embarrassment that had been weighing on his chest. 

He’d never seen Batman’s face before. 

He had a sharp jaw and square chin, much like Hal, but his face was less narrow. His nose was hooked, his pale skin glistened where his cowl had been fastened on. His jet black hair was slicked back with a mixture of product and sweat (at least, that’s what it smelled like), with flyaways sticking up from the removal of his cowl. His eyes were icy blue, cold enough to cut with a glance - Hal assumed the patented ‘Batglare’ worked just as well without the suit and mask. 

Hal found it grounding to see how imperfect and human he was. The stubble that dotted his jawline and cheeks didn’t seem to reenforce the ‘tough loner’ persona outside the costume. Now, it made Bats look even more like a tired workaholic who had forgotten to shave. The beginnings of acne littered the man’s temples where his sweat dripped under the cowl, though it seemed controlled, as if Spooky was trying every skin product to get rid of them. His exhaustion was only emphasised by the purple bags under his sad eyes. 

He looked vaguely familiar, but not enough for Hal to connect the dots. His mind was too frazzled right now anyways. He was too distracted by the fact that Mr Secret-Keeper Extraordinaire had revealed his face. It must be serious talk time.

“Jason,” Batman rumbled. The word was barely audible, and Hal had been too caught up in studying the man’s new face that he couldn’t gauge the meaning.

“Huh?”

“Jason,” he said again. “It… was my son’s name.”

Oh. 

Oh.

Suddenly Batman’s shift in demeanour made total sense. He had felt the same empty throb Hal did, and was trying his darnedest to express some form of empathy. He was clearly struggling, but it somehow made Hal feel a little more valid. If the great, emotionless Bat could break a little over this, so could Hal. 

That tiny spark of kinship was quickly overridden by a wave of dawning horror at the meaning if his words.

“Wait… was Robin…?” The whispered question was only answered by the silence that followed. No wonder Batman disappeared for over a year - that boy had not died peacefully. Having that on your conscience must tear a man apart. “Man. I’m really sorry.” 

Hal couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer lack of articulation in his lame sentence. So maybe Hal wasn’t in the best state to be giving reassurances right now, but he could try, right?

“Thank you,” Batman responded anyways. “May I… ask what happened?”

Here’s the thing. As much as Hal didn’t want to lie about Aya, he also didn’t exactly feel up to explaining to Batman - Mr ‘Everything Has To Make Logical Sense’, that his ‘child’ was not only not his own, but also was technically an Artificial Intelligence that used to inhabit his old spaceship as a nav computer. This little bonding moment would come to an abrupt stop and Bats would probably declare him insane. Not that Hal could blame him.

“It’s a long story,” he said, desperately racking his brain for some sort of half-truth that wouldn’t be completely see-through. He floundered, spitting out sentences to stall for time. “A few things happened. It wasn’t just one thing, y’know? There was a couple months of build up, and even then it’s complicated-”

“Lantern.”

Hal looked back at Batman, hoping his aimless words hadn’t made him think he was lying about Aya. He wasn’t lying, he just wasn’t sure how to tell the truth without sounding disillusioned. 

Batman continued; “You don’t need to tell me. I understand.”

But Hal felt that he owed Bats an explanation. He hadn’t needed to reveal himself, especially not for Hal of all people, but he had. The least he could do was tell him a half-truth. 

“It’s just- it’s frustrating. That girl survived everything life threw at her, and it’s not like life gave her the easy route. But in the end… it was just some stupid virus.”

“Becoming ill is unavoidable, Hal. That is not your fault.”

Right. Virus equals sickness. Hal could work with that. He probably could’ve stopped there, but the truth was, it felt good to actually say it out loud. The weight so familiar that he’d almost forgotten it finally began to lift from his shoulders. He stared straight ahead and spoke again.

“It’s just… it wasn’t only that. One minute, everything was fine. Then she came to me about a fight she had with her boyfriend, and I brushed her off. I was busy. Lantern stuff. The next thing I know she’d ran away. I went after her, obviously, but every time I caught up to her, we just argued and she’d take off again.” Hal’s voice had started to wobble. He took a deep breath and pretended his eyes weren’t glassy. When had he started staring at his own lap? “She finally decided to come home, but then… she got sick. Didn’t last long after that.”

“I’m… sorry.”

Hal clenched his jaw tight to stop it from quivering, barely even registering Batman’s sympathy. 

“…Yeah.”

He took a deep breath and quickly swiped at his eyes. That was enough emotional sharing for today, in Hal’s book. Letting out a breathy laugh at the sheer weirdness of the situation, he pulled his eyes back to Batman, whose eyebrows had furrowed slightly in confusion. Working out the tonal shift of the room, Hal betted.

“So! I uh, never got a name from you, Bats.” The Gothamite’s face scrunched up a little more, clearly showing his lack of certainty. Sweet Sayd, he was so much easier to read without the cowl. If he had been in full uniform, Hal would’ve only seen narrowed eyes and slightly pursed lips. He felt a little bad for switching the subject on a dime, but the minute he starts crying in front of Batman was the minute the subject needed to be changed. “What, are you gonna make me guess? It’s not, like, ‘Frank’ or somthin’, is it? No wait, I swear I’ll actually eat a table if your name is freakin’ ‘Bob’.”

“My name?”

“There’s no one else here, bud. All that cryin’ make your eyes blurry?”

“I didn’t-”

“Charles.”

“That was you-”

“Keith.”

“You should know me-”

“Wait, wait, I got it. You look like a Paul to me.”

Batman moved to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“You’re infuriating. Are you seriously telling me that you have no idea who I am?”

“What, are you a Kardashian?”

“No.”

“Then I probably haven’t heard of you, sorry pal.”

“My name is Bruce Wayne.”

“….Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

“You’re insufferable.”

———

When Jason Todd came back from the dead, Hal was happy for Bruce.

Really. He was.