▸ includes: reptile, sub zero, scorpion [mk1 versions] ◂
▸ tags: nsfw content, explicit language, inappropriate usage of power/abilities, f!reader, kind of drabble, short, canon as possible as I can, licking, watching, petnames, fingering, edging, human form!syzoth, rude and sharp!sub zero, lover!mk1 characters, brat!reader, heat, cold. enjoy! ◂
▸ notes: watched 4+ hours cutscenes of mortal kombat 1 game and well, kind of fall in love with 80% of mk1 characters, so, couldn't help but write for a few of my fav characters from the game. requests open for the mk1 characters as well & have fun while reading, thank u! ^^ [can publish part 2 of this if you would like too!]
REPTILE is a shy lover. he finds himself trying to hide his nature whenever you two have sex not to hurt you because he knows you’re still fragile even though you try to believe otherwise. he never transforms into his reptile form while fucking you, so hard for him to do that but he would rather endure than hurting you in any way. however, that doesn’t mean he lacks fun and any sort of kinks in sex, no, contrary to that, syzoth has a kinky personality that allows him to like watching you, both as general and in bed - he can’t help, especially not when you’re so beautiful leaning on the bed you two are sharing, trying to give yourself pleasure with your fingers while screaming his name because he is away for a mission as you still believe - not knowing when he will return but here he is, standing right in front of you, watching how your fingers disappear inside your folds, going in and out, mouth agape, moaning his name over and over again as if they’re his fingers - or even his cock inside your walls. he likes how you miss him enough to do all of these.
invisible to your eyes, he watches you until he’s sure you’re so close to the edge, then, chuckling teasingly, he appears slowly, giving you a heart attack right there but you forget all about it when his fingers replace yours, smirking like a brat, green eyes position on your pretty face as he looks at you fondly.
“you’re so needy for me that you can’t wait for a few hours until I return, is that it, pretty?” he chuckles, head tilting and he listens to your pleases like they’re the prettiest sound he has ever heard. he makes you cum, more than once because he says, “if that is the case, I will fuck my pretty girl so deep that she will never forget it even when I leave.”
SUB ZERO is not gentle at all when it comes to having sex with him. he prefers to make you remember who you belong to, whose name you’re screaming, and who makes your legs shake in weakness because he fucks you that good. he doesn’t think about what a kink is in detail but he knows he has a few and he uses them with you without hesitation. you like them as he understands from the voices you make, the expressions your face has, and cumming all over him without announcing because you can’t hold them any longer.
he knows he shouldn’t use any of his abilities while fucking you but he can’t help. he breaks his discipline side and uses them anyway from time to time while having sex with you; decreasing his body temperature when he fucks you behind, kneeling down until your naked back touches his bare chest so that you get close to cum, feeling a sense of chill.
he does that with some parts of his body either; his fingers when they travel on your body, in your mouth, between your thighs and holes - the tip of his tongue when it enters your pussy, making you lose your mind. he even changes its temperature from time to time only to earn the sounds you can't think you're making. he doesn't stop with his attempts of fucking you 'till you have a non-functional brain because of only him - his thick cock, the way he fucks you into oblivion and not holding himself back from using his abilities to his advantage to make you realize only he can fuck you like this. he's fond of your screams after all, begs that want him to stop because it's too much for you to handle go to deaf ears - not even when it's as cold as under a frozen surface of a deep sea.
"so cold, huh?" scoffs, humiliating your pathetic condition, "what were you thinking anyway whore?" he asks, poison in his voice, deep. "think that I would hold back because you beg so nicely?" laughs, holds your hair tightly as he fucks you from behind. "they're only praying for me to go deeper, my pretty slut." and he does - going deeper and colder each passing time and you only can take it all - you're his own pet to enjoy in the end.
SCORPION is a cute lover. he doesn't hurt you in any way as possible as he can, protecting you at all cost, keeping his fire at a minimum level whenever you're around - except while fighting of course. he never uses his abilities against you but oh, he can't deny that he loves it when you are a total brat, asking him to do such naughty things in bed, including using his fire to make intimate sessions more intense than it is needed - you both need it as you say, believing you can endure it and in the end, he accepts your pleases, allowing himself adjoining a few things he can do without hurting you.
firstly, he just uses it on his tongue when it enters your wet pussy, licking from your inner thighs to inside, giving you euphoria. he makes sure not to burn you, enjoying by himself too after seeing how turned on you are in these moments. he is a man who wants to please his lover more than himself in the first place - a gentleman. then, it begins with these simple pleasure times - it evolves into something that even you can't imagine happening and it takes you a long time to realize how scorpion has begun to his abilities on you in order to turn you on often; the cute lover discovers how you're affected by heat - in general, so, he thinks a way to make your heat go up without noticing he's the one who is doing it by increasing his body's heat as he comes near you, giving you hotness you can't ignore and start taking off your clothes one by one.
of course he acts innocent, asking how he can help you, and then smirking, saying how he makes you hot by just standing beside you. catching you in a trap with all his desires to have you, he reaches his plan's top point when you have a sports bra and shorts on your body and nothing else. oh, how he feels a kind of achievement when you agree with him, being naked and having one of the best fucking in your entire life to get rid of your heat after getting horny because of being exposed in front of the man you love.
"my love, you give me a heat even my own power can't give; you have no idea how I am burning for you." he smiles down at you, eyes burning with sparkles of fire, "oh - beautiful, the most beautiful thing in the whole universe I have ever seen. let me burn you the way you are doing to me, my love."
Tags: Heavy Angst, Super Soldier/Cyborg!Reader, Blood, Bombing at a Protest, Violence, Violence Against Aliens, Drinking, Bar Fights, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Emotions, Terror, Body Horror, Some Humor, Explicit Language, Cringe Flirting, Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting
A/N: This is more of a introductory chapter of Reader and Supercorp than anything else. It's mostly story than smut or romance. Also, instead of making Kara like how she is in Arrowverse, I made her more Canonical Crashout Danvers™️ like in the comics lol. They really should have let Melissa Benoist be as unhinged as Supergirl is. It would have made the show more fun in my opinion. Thanks for reading!
It was staggering how much things didn’t change. That even though society has access to history and all its knowledge, humanity was doomed to repeat every mistake it’s made prior. Like now, where in the middle of it all, this was what society was subjecting itself to. Hate and vitriol at all the wrong things and at all the wrong people.
The streets of National City were coated in destruction and conundrum. Thick columns of inky, black smoke belched into the sky, and it smothered the sunlight in darkness. Cars were on fire. Some were flipped upside down. The smell of burning metal chased away the crisp ocean air. Protest signs littered the roads. Riot gear decorated the ground, batons and cracked shields one of many signs that society had turned on itself. Destruction covered every street corner. Strife and violence slowly became the norm. You would think that the world was going to hell, but it wasn’t. Not yet. Not if you could help it. No matter what happened, you would be here, doing everything that you could to help right the things that went wrong.
The Agents of Liberty did a great job at turning people against each other. Their goal was to vilify aliens, to paint innocent people as something less than because they weren’t human, because they weren’t from Earth. It was a tale as old as time, where people would always find a reason to hate and bring violence against others. First, it was race. Then, it was nationality. Then, it was religion. Eventually, humans would tick down the list, finding any and all reasons to hate one another. Sexuality. Gender. Imagining all the reasons for why people should be treated as anything less than equal were cycled through, again and again, doomed to repeat over and over as a living cycle of hubris that would always loom over humanity. The thing was that you couldn’t be surprised. If history taught you anything, it was that this would happen again, and it would never stop.
That was the last thought that crossed your mind a second ago. When the only thing on your mind was making your voice heard. When you could feel your boots thumping against the asphalt. When you could feel sweat trickling down the sides of your head. At one point, you were protesting, your sign a grounding weight in your hand. Beside you were all the people that supported the cause. Aliens. Humans. All people who were different but wanted to live in peace. People who weren’t violent. People who weren’t extremists. People who were individuals that were either displaced, refugees, or simply looking for a new start. It’d been simple: protest peacefully and make your voice heard.
Now, you were opening your eyes to a world torn apart. Before you could even gather where you were, an immediate wave of intense nausea washed over you. Your stomach upended when your equilibrium flipped, when your sense of up and down were just as chaotic as the street that you laid on. A high-pitched ringing noise filled your ears. It made you groan as it muffled the shouts of fear and pain around you. The world was swaying, almost tipping on its side. The air pulsed intensely. It was hot with heat and heavy with smoke. Bodies surrounded you on the ground. Some of them moved like you, writhing in pain and moving laggardly through the shock. Others weren’t moving at all. Something was raining on your face, but through the shock that gripped your body like a vice, you couldn’t feel it. Dust? Rock? You could hardly tell what it was. Not with blurry vision and confusion muddling your senses.
What you could feel was something wet and warm trickling down the sides of your head. It clung to you, cutting a trail through the dirt and soot that coated your sweaty skin.
Just a moment ago, something detonated, and you knew that it’d been deliberate. You marched with your friend, with your peers. You marched so that your voices could be heard. You marched for the safety of the people you loved. Even though you weren’t an alien, you were still there, because in the end, it didn’t matter what you were. This was going to affect everyone.
And it did.
You groaned, coughing and gasping as you tried to move. You needed to get up! You needed to make sure that your best friend was okay. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t even find the balance to get onto your hands and knees. Anytime you found purchase, your grip would slip, and you found yourself falling onto your back and staring at the darkened sky. You felt like your entire body was submerged underwater. Everything around you was muffled, the whining in your ears like pressurized cotton against your eardrums.
The only things that you could hear were the sounds of your own labored breathing and the rapid beating of your heart. That’s it. It was all hollowed and frenzied, but the state of your body didn’t click. You were confused and disoriented. Trapped in your body and unable to connect with it.
In the distance, a shadowy figure approached you, and at first, it was an indiscernible blob, a black mass of weight that was coming towards you quickly. You squinted at it, your head lolling minutely as breaths sawed in and out of you. Then from the blackness came a hand. The person kneeled by you and leaned close enough that they slowly came into focus.
Damien.
Your best friend, the person that was by your side until your world went up in light, fire, smoke, and metal. He cupped your cheek and gently turned you to him while his other hand rested on your lower chest. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear what he said. The ringing was still there. Your hollow breaths echoed in your head. Your heart was thundering in your chest. Now, pain was blossoming to life inside of you. It started as a dull ache, as something that wasn’t completely registering in your brain. It was barely there, but with each breath that you took, it intensified. It kept ratcheting higher and higher until suddenly, you felt a sharp pop in your ear. Then, it all flooded in. The pain. The blood. The screams. Damien’s voice. Like someone turned the volume all the way up in the room. Agony and awareness that came in tandem, as something that happened when you survived something that should have killed you.
“Get up!” he yelled.
His voice echoed in your ears, and you whimpered as you squeezed your eyes closed. It was all too much. The screams. The smoke. The fire. His hands pulled at your shirt, the cotton soaking through with blood. Your blood. This happened to you once before. This exact same situation. A bomb. Your body taking a brunt of the blow. Then, you almost died. Your body crashing before you could make it to the medical tent. This time, things were different. You were different. You were human and always would be, but you were stronger. Still concussed. Still injured, but still alive.
“You have to get up!”
Damien was right. You needed to move. Now! You sat up...or at least tried to. Your body protested the entire time, the pain you felt hindering your ability to move in your full range of motion, but what you couldn’t achieve, Damien assisted. He helped you to your feet, his wide, glowing eyes shifting around in a panic.
“C’mon! C’mon!” he yelled as he wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders for stability.
He hoisted you up and you clutched onto him like a lifeline. Your legs were just fine, miraculously not sustaining any damage, but you stumbled like you were drunk, the world still swaying as you fought against the urge to vomit. You were concussed for sure, a consequence of being near the bomb and taking the brunt of the blast. Damien had you in his hold, his eyes bright and swimming with tears as he ran. You didn’t know what was going on, but you could see the terror on his face. Your feet stumbled against the asphalt, but you moved with him. One foot in front of the other. One unsteady breath at a time. You risked looking back, not knowing what was going on, and you saw them.
The Children of Liberty.
They ran after the survivors, their intent clear. They weren’t just after you. Or Damien. They were after everyone that survived the initial blast. People in masks brandishing weapons against a group of aliens that were protesting peacefully. Everything within you wanted to stand and fight, but even you had limits. You weren’t a hero. You weren’t an alien. You didn’t have superpowers. You were limited by your humanity, and it was the only thing stopping you from cleaving through the growing mass who were hellbent on spreading violence and fear.
Because of how slow you were, they were getting closer, gaining ground. Damien was trying to move, but you were too heavy for him. Tears of panic were streaming down his cheeks. From behind, you heard the loud pop of a gunshot. It spurred him on, dragging you in a desperate attempt to move faster. You were trying. You were moving as fast as you could, but it was like moving through wet cement. Saliva, or maybe even blood, filled your mouth. You were going to throw up. The world was spinning faster and faster the more you scrambled after your friend. You were seconds away from telling him to leave you behind, but then a streak of blue and red cut through the billowing smoke.
You knew who it was. Anyone in National City knew, and a second later, Supergirl landed harshly on the ground. Her red boots cracked the asphalt as she regarded the attacking mass with abject fury.
It made sense. A cause such as this one would land close to home for her. She was raised here. Her and Superman. If her backstory was true, then Earth was as close to a home as she would get. There was no going back to Krypton. Her family. Her heritage. Her planet. It was all gone, and the people she swore to protect were now turning against her for something she couldn’t help.
Damien never slowed down. Even as their attackers slowed to a stop in front of Supergirl, Damien kept running. He held on to you fiercely, the tips of his fingers digging into bleeding flesh and aching muscle. But he had you. He held on to you even as the world began to fade again. He held on to you as he desperately tried to keep you awake. He saw your feet begin to drag but he had you. Damien held you even as your blood soaked his hands.
He was the last person you felt when your body couldn’t hold on anymore. The ringing in your ears felt like it was going to split your brain in two, and the nausea made it hard to breathe. You didn’t want to give up, but you didn’t have a choice right now. Your body was making it for you when everything around you went black, and the last thing you heard were the sounds of screaming and terror.
+++
You heard movement, but it wasn’t the kind that told you that someone was nearby because they were meant to be. Whoever this was moved like they didn’t want anyone to know that they were there. Each step was measured. Careful. Heel first, then toes, the foot rolling to absorb as much impact as possible. It woke you up instantly, your senses on high alert.
This wasn’t the hospital. There would be more sounds. There would be equipment, and nurses, and doctors, and white sterility. No. You were on a couch, in the dark, and in someone’s home. You snapped upright, the movement immediately regretted when your hand flew to your stomach. Agony exploded there, the resulting searing pain enough to make you cry out. Your hand met a thick layer of gauze wrapped neatly and tightly around you. It was fresh out of the plastic, meaning, that it was used very recently.
The person that you heard was by your side immediately, their hand on your shoulder easing you down against the couch cushions.
“Hey, take it easy,” Damien murmured quietly.
When you heard his voice, all the fight bled from you as quickly as it appeared. A sigh of relief left your dry lips, and you closed your eyes weakly. You were home. You were home with him. Your best friend and your roommate. You took comfort in knowing that he was alive and seemingly unharmed.
“How long have I been out?”
“A few hours,” he answered while he sat beside you, and you hummed.
“The damage?”
“Mostly in your chest. You took most of the concussive force while others took…the majority of the shrapnel.”
Damien said it haltingly, his voice full of regret as he eased a cup of water into your hand. He didn’t have to say more. You knew what happened when you woke up to unmoving bodies around you.
“You’d think that I’d get used to being blown up,” you said after gulping the water until the glass was empty.
“To be fair, it’s only happened one other time, and what happened then was much worse.”
Oh, you remembered. How couldn’t you? You almost died. It wasn’t something that you were going to forget anytime soon.
You looked at your chest again, your shirt completely gone and, in its place, a thick layer of gauze and bandages.
“Why am I wrapped like a mummy?”
“Because you didn’t miss all the shrapnel,” Damien answered with a raised eyebrow. “Luckily, it was all surface wounds. It took an hour, but I got it all out.”
To prove his point, he reached towards his coffee table and grabbed a slightly bloodied mason jar. Then, he wiggled it, and you heard the jingle of small metals shards inside. Beside it sat used and bloodied gauze, and a pair of steel tweezers. You laughed humorlessly despite the ache that flared in your torso.
“Well. What’s a few more scars?”
Damien didn’t answer. He placed the jar back down and sighed. “How’s the concussion?”
You shrugged. “My head feels cloudy, and I’m confused, but the nausea and dizziness are gone. So, I’ll take it.”
“Must be nice.”
“Not really,” you dismissed with a shrug. “How’s the arm and leg?”
Damien looked at you, a knowing expression overtaking his features as his eyes continued to glow, even in the dark.
“They’re completely fine. You know that.”
“Never carried them through a bomb so I felt the need to ask.”
“Nothing on this earth will damage them,” Damien spoke resolutely.
You nodded and sighed again. Silence filled the room, one that was full of something tangible. It wasn’t tension, but the air was thick with something unspoken, of something that spoke in volumes when a single word wasn’t uttered.
“Give it a day,” Damien said finally as he stood to his feet. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“Yeah. There’s still so much work to do.”
+++
A bomb wasn’t going to stop the cause. It wasn’t going to stop you. Despite Damien’s insistence for rest, you were on your feet and moving around.
“You should really lie down,” he said to you while he nursed his cup of coffee in the kitchen.
It was a small space for a two-bedroom apartment, but it was yours and his. It was a space you treasured. It was where you made food while he tinkered with technology on the dining table. It was where soft conversations were had about the past and future. It was where, if even just for a moment, life was calm and forgiving, where your mistakes didn’t haunt you. Here, you were just you. Here, Damien made space that allowed you to just be.
You shrugged. Resting any more was impossible right now. You’ve already lost a day. You couldn’t risk losing more time. In the background, the news was playing on the tv, and the segment covered the bomb that detonated during the protest. You watched as it played a video that someone took with their phone. Even that little bit didn’t do it justice. You remembered the screams being much louder. You remembered the smoke being much thicker. You remembered the taste of thick, metallic crimson on your tongue. The screams were grating. The fear was tangible. That video didn’t put into perspective what really happened on that street.
“I’m completely healed, Damien. I have some scars, and the concussion is mostly gone.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze taking you in as the glow brightened in his eyes. The purple was vibrant and electric. Localized to just his irises, it was even more uncanny when you saw a glowing pair of orbs staring back at you in the dark. Except for them, Damien looked completely human. To hide his gaze, he wore a pair of special sunglasses of his own creation. They completely hid the glow so that anyone looking at him head on only saw the lens.
Right now, he seemed to be staring into your soul, and you let him. It was something that you got used to throughout the years, so it didn’t bother you anymore. It didn’t deter Damien from staring nonetheless as he took a sip of his coffee.
“You know that the days of you being a soldier are long gone. You don’t have to keep carrying this around. You haul it like it’s your personal crucifix.”
You sighed heavily, your eyes taking in your left arm and your right leg. Both of which weren’t flesh and bone. Instead, carefully crafted cybernetics and robotics occupied what you lost. It was another invention of Damien’s. When you didn’t lose your life, you lost your limbs, the damage too extensive for the doctors to salvage what was left. They were amputated, and you spent years in physical therapy, relearning coordination and balance with half of your body missing.
“Maybe it is my burden to bear,” you replied sadly. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. “I need to protect you, Damien.”
“I know,” he whispered. “You don’t have to.”
This time you did look at him, your frown deepening at his response. “You’re being vilified for something you can’t control. You can be killed trying to buy food. You can be assaulted just for going outside. What do you mean ‘I don’t have to’?”
His shoulders dropped as he put his mug down.
“You’ve survived enough. You’ve gone through enough. I want a life for you where you don’t have to fight. Aren’t you tired of it?”
He laughed humorlessly. The smile that curled your lips wasn’t kind, and despite being okay a second ago, you felt tears well in your eyes. It was a sore spot for you, which was something that Damien knew.
“Of course I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I want nothing more than to just lie down and let the world leave me behind, but I’m not so tired that I’m going to be passive about your safety. Someone needs to do something about this, and if it has to be me, then so be it.”
He nodded, but whether that was out of acknowledgement of your words or his affirmation that he felt that you were right, you didn’t know.
“I’m going to stay home today,” he answered instead. “I don’t want to make it a habit of being blown up. Unlike some people I know.”
That made you smirk, but the tension in your chest eased slightly while you blinked the tears away. Damien was good at that, at making you smile when you needed it the most.
“If you need anything, text me.”
He nodded and went back to sipping his coffee.
+++
A drink. That's what you needed, and you knew just where to find one. Alcohol that was cheap enough to not hurt the wallet while strong enough to keep your ghosts at bay could be found at one place. Al’s Dive Bar. The very bar where you met your best friend. The same bar that was one of the few safe places left for aliens in National City.
You made your way towards it, looking over your shoulder frequently to make sure that you weren’t being followed. You were unassuming enough, opting to wear baggy clothing to hide your physique as you walked down the sidewalk.
As long as you stayed within the city limits, things were still “normal”, though using that word was a stretch when considering the bomb that went off during the protest. It was when entering the suburban, urban, and especially, the low-income neighborhoods, did things look especially dystopian. You kept your head low and your eyes to the sidewalk. Though you feigned keeping to yourself, your senses and perception were on high alert.
It was horrible.
The Children of Liberty set up patrols and checkpoints, forcing people into lines so that they could scan them using Lena Luthor’s alien scanner devices. Some help those turned out to be. In the wrong hands, these devices were used to force aliens out of hiding, even with hologram disguises. You were approaching a checkpoint now, and not seeing a way out of it, you decided to play nice. You were severely outnumbered and out gunned, and to start a fight would be unwise. You waited in line, your eyes taking in the scene around you. Things really came to this. Even when it was your turn and you removed one of your gloves to press a thumb against the scanner, you couldn’t help but look around. How was it that any of this was normal?
How were people complicit in this?
You were just walking away from the checkpoint, putting your glove back on and shoving your hands into your pockets, when the sounds of yelling made you stop. You turned around just in time to see someone get punched in the face. Even from where you were, you could hear the blow, the dull thwack of skin against skin loud in your own ears.
"We’ve got a roach!”
The person in question was swarmed immediately, more aggressors than allies surrounding him with a sick kind of excitement that told you that whatever was going to happen to him, he wasn’t going to survive it. Even from where you were, you could see the stunned terror morphing his features, his inhuman eyes widening as his hands clutched at his cheek. Something was flashing in and out over his face. His holographic disguise. Likely damaged when he was assaulted. He couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. More and more checkpoints were spawning every day, and he assumed that his disguise was going to be enough.
You didn’t think. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t have the time to formulate one. Instead, you were already running, and acting, before it was too late. Someone in a mask forced the person in their tenacious grip to the ground, and he pinned him there. His knee was pressed into his body a mere inches away from his neck. You could see his face turn red, his struggled movements increasing as he fought to free himself.
“S-Stop!” he wheezed, but the knee on his back didn’t allow him to say more.
He was being strangled in broad daylight, and no one else was making any moves to help. Fear gripped the public stronger than a vice. Anyone that was in the immediate vicinity backed away while yelling. Some people fled altogether, the lines at each checkpoint devolving into chaos. You shoved people out of your way, uncaring if they fell to the ground. At least they got to go home to their families. Most people weren’t making it home, leaving their families to wonder if something happened to them or if they were even still alive.
You reached the aggressor in record time, your hand tangling itself into the back of his jacket before launching him into the air. You didn’t stop to see where he landed, not that you cared. You were instantly on your knees and helping the man sprawled out in the street. The moment you yanked his attacker off his body, he dissolved into bone-rattling coughs as oxygen flooded his lungs. You helped him onto his back so that his chest didn’t collapse against the unforgiving asphalt.
You didn’t have the chance to ask him any questions. Already, more Children of Liberty assholes were beginning to flank you. Only one had a gun, which was great news. The not-so-great news was that you were still outnumbered. Five-to-one. The odds weren’t ideal, but you had some pent-up fury you needed to work out anyway. You rolled your neck while remaining the only barrier between them and the man behind you.
Every single person was masked. Fucking cowards. Hiding behind symbols because they knew that they wouldn’t be able to handle the hate they readily dished out to others who lived their lives peacefully.
“Hey! Why the fuck do you care what happens to this roach?” someone called out. “I scanned you and you’re human. Let us take out the trash!”
How could you explain the basic concept of respect and decency to someone who clearly held neither in high regard? Contrary to popular opinion, reasoning with people like this wasn’t going to yield results. Not everyone could have their shining main character moment, where right and wrong are cleanly defined and the masses are swayed with carefully worded rhetoric. No. Besides, you were a person of very few words and far more aggressive actions. You weren’t going to pretend to be a good person, because you weren’t. But you had something that these fuckers clearly didn’t have: a conscience. And it took very, very little, these days, to make you feel it. What you just saw, indeed, made you... Feel. It.
Your lip twitched, your only outward reaction to what was just said to you. You kept your eyes trained on the people that surrounded you, but your senses were stretched as far out as you could manage them. So far, there weren’t reinforcements, but that could change, and you wanted to wrap this up so that you could get your drink. Of course, the one with the gun decided that he wanted to attack first, and you reacted quickly. The moment he squeezed the trigger, you raised your arm and used it to shield yourself. There was a loud clang, a reverberation of metal striking against metal, before silence. The bullet ricocheted off you before digging itself uselessly into the street. The gang that surrounded you paused as shocked silence ripped through them. The bullet, flattened and warped, lie embedded in the black asphalt. The smoke from combustion still wafted from the lead, but that was the only proof that it was fired at all. You moved too fast for them to see.
“Shoot her again!”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. If it didn’t work the first time, why try again? But he still tried, his index finger squeezing the trigger repeatedly. This time, you moved, your body effortlessly blocking the shots. More metal ricocheted off your arm and leg as you used it to protect yourself and the man behind you. He kept going, firing until the gun clicked and the magazine was empty. Even when that happened, he kept pulling the trigger. Your frowned deepened and you looked at all the flattened and smoking bullets that littered the floor.
“Aye, yo,” he breathed. Even from behind the mask, you could hear his voice shudder. “She ain’t human!”
This time you smirked, your eyes brightening with excitement as you stepped forward and grabbed the gun while he still held it. Then you squeezed. The gun groaned and warped under your strength. As your fingers curled around it, pieces of metal broke off and fell to the ground. It was as easy as balling up a piece of paper, and the weapon that he just tried to kill you with disintegrated under the force of your strength. However, it wasn’t the only thing that you destroyed. You crushed his hand while you were at it, the sickening snaps of bones and tendons filling the air a second before he screamed in agony. You ripped what was left of the gun out of his mangled hand and tossed it to the ground. It was a crushed ball of metal and dust now.
“My hand!” he wailed pathetically. “She crushed my fucking hand!”
No one said anything afterwards. They all attacked, all at once, and you were ready. You reached out and grabbed one by the throat while uppercutting the other before he got too close. The crunch of cartilage filled the air, and he released a strangled breath before immediately crumpling onto the floor like dead weight. Blood gushed from underneath the mask, and he ripped it off while cupping his broken nose. The one in your hold revealed the knife in his hand, the metal glinting under the sunlight as he raised it high to strike you.
You raised an eyebrow, curious to see what he thought he was about to accomplish with it. You held him too far away from your torso, and while you couldn’t see his face, you could see the skin on his neck turn an ugly shade of red. You were still deciding if you wanted to choke the life out of him or wait for him to pass out. His actions were about to ensure that you did the former.
He drove the blade down with all his strength, and while it tore into your jacket, it stopped right there. It should have breached past skin, muscles, and maybe even bone. It should have torn into you, the blade sharp and serrated enough to cause serious damage. Instead, the blade buckled, scrunching like an accordion, the metal warping just like the bullets had.
You shook your head. “What the fuck made you think that a knife would work when the bullets didn’t?”
He sputtered, desperation kicking in as he tried to stab your arm again and again in attempt to make you let him go. From behind, some tried to rush you, but you pivoted on your feet, shifting your weight to one leg while executing a perfect kick that sent the person behind you flying backwards. They landed a few feet away, sputtering, wheezing, and writhing in the street. There was one guy left. The ones that could get up and leave were trying to grab their friends and scamper away with their tails between their legs. The last one standing was frozen in place with breaths tearing in and out of his lips. You faced him while you held his buddy in your grip.
“Well?” you goaded. “I don’t have all fucking day.”
His friend had long since dropped the knife, and it joined the litter on the ground, useless and destroyed. Now, his hands were clawing at your forearm. While you weren’t hurt, you couldn’t say the same for the state of your jacket and glove. The glove was gone, having fallen on the street in tatters. The cotton of your jacket sleeve was shredded, loose threads sticking up and frayed from his constant stabbing. His fingers clawed at the material and tore it more. That’s when it ripped off, the material falling away to reveal what was underneath.
Metal.
It was shiny. Sleek. Masterfully crafted and clearly not something made on earth or by humans. It hissed slightly, the pressure within shifting as the cybernetics worked seamlessly with your nervous system. The metal itself was dark, almost black with silver undertones. The tiny plates that made the outer shell shifted with every move it made. It made the arm look more fluid and natural instead of appearing to be this stiff and bulky appendage. It was a part of you, courtesy of Damien when he saw how much you needed help.
The remaining asshole stood there, his brain clearly buffering. Right as he was about to say something, you heard a thunk behind you, the sound of something landing heavily on the street. You knew who it was before you saw her. Supergirl. She was out of breath, that much you could hear, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the threat until you knew that it was safe.
“You can either be smart and go home or be stupid and stay here. Either way, I have time,” she warned.
That was all that he needed to hear. With a whimper, he scampered away, tripping over himself in a desperate attempt to escape, and you dropped the now, barely conscious, man in your hold. His body landed unceremoniously and haphazardly onto the street with a heaviness that made you frown. Your attention briefly swept over Supergirl, a nod of acknowledgement all you gave her for the moment while you turned your full attention to the man on the ground. He was on his hands and knees now, with tears streaming down his cheeks. When you turned towards him, he looked at you, scared but cautiously hopeful. Wordlessly, you offered your hand, and he took it gratefully, the warmth of his hand sinking into your palm as you helped him up. He was visibly shaken, his eyes wide while shifting erratically. Blood already wept from the cuts he sustained while bruises marred his dark skin. Without the hologram disguised, he looked every bit like an alien unfortunately, and that made him the perfect target.
“What are you doing out here?” Supergirl demanded, her voice accusatory as she took a step closer to him.
You looked at her, your eyebrows furrowed at the way that she was talking to him. She was frustrated, and after these last few weeks, she had every right to be. However, this man in front of you was the victim, not the perpetrator. His only “crime” was existing as a perceived enemy. He didn’t do anything wrong.
Supergirl seemed to sense your hardened gaze on her, and she clamped her mouth shut as the man dissolved into tears.
“Food,” he blubbered as his tears mixed with the drops of blood on his face.
“I’m sorry?” Supergirl asked.
“M-My family,” he explained. “We’re starving. I lost my job and we’re too scared to leave our home to get food. My little girls haven’t eaten in days. I can’t remember the last time we had food in our bellies. My husband is sick with hunger, and I can’t take watching my family slowly starve to death.”
Every word he said ignited more fury within you, and if it weren’t from years of practicing your poker face, you would look positively irate right now. Instead, what betrayed you was your heavy breaths and your rising heart rate. Supergirl looked at you like she was trying to figure something out. Why were you here and how could you take on a group of men like that?
“Look, uhhh?” you prompted.
“Keith.”
“You’re an alien named Keith?” you asked, and he chuckled weakly. It was genuine, and despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins, you found yourself returning the gesture.
“It’s my human name.”
You nodded. “Keith, I can help, but it requires a degree of trust. Where can I meet you later?”
He looked at you skeptically, his smile instantly falling away to reveal nervous trepidation and fear. He had small spines, like a porcupine, dusting his cheekbones and the middle of his forehead. Maybe on his home planet, they served a function, but here on Earth, they were too small to cause anyone any harm. You also noticed two other physical features on his head. First, were his large, bat-like ears. They were huge, and comically big for his head. Covering the tips and the backs of them was a thick dusting of fuzz. Not quite fur, but also not bald. How the hologram disguise managed to hide them from prying eyes, you would never know. The second feature was that he was blind. Whatever color was supposed to be housed in his irises was now a dull and muted gray. Despite it all, he was looking you in your eyes as you conversed with him.
“I won’t harm you or your family. You need food, and the current environment won’t allow you to do that safely. Let me get it for you so that you can focus on protecting the ones that you care about.”
He swallowed thickly, his ears twitching minutely as he looked between you and Supergirl. Keith looked to be on the verge of tears as he considered your proposition. He had to suspect that you were human. After all, you were past the scanners by the time the fight started. At the same time, he didn’t know you. What was to say that you would show up with a squad of bat shit, crazy fanatics?
It was one thing that his own personal safety was put on the line, but his heart would break if anything happened to his husband and daughters. But he was helpless, and there was nothing more debilitating than being helpless when people were relying on him.
“Please don’t hurt us,” he begged, his voice low as he looked at you.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t. I want to help. Please let me.”
Keith nodded finally. He was reluctant and you couldn’t blame him. His ears twitched again, the movements a reflex to all the sounds he’s processing all at once, and he held out a hand. You took it without thinking and the moment your hand was in his hold, he stopped.
“How did this happen to you?”
You looked down to see your metal hand in his curious grip. You hadn’t realized that he meant for that to happen, using his non-dominant hand to offer a handshake, and you were more concerned with helping Keith and his family than paying attention to which hand mattered when it came to social interactions.
But it was too late.
He could feel the cold, unyielding metal plates that protected the wires and circuitry within. Immediately, you relaxed it in his hold, allowed him to explore it a bit, his gaze looking at it though he couldn’t see anything. You were used to fear. You were used to people reacting to your prosthetic arm like it was something that would kill them on sight. It was very rare to meet someone who showed intrigue, and yet, that was Keith as his hands ran over the metal. Not once did he show trepidation over what was clearly different about your body. Keith was curious, not appalled.
“Wrong place. Wrong time.”
He nodded, not pushing for more details. When he let go and pulled away, you noticed something white in your hand. A small, folded piece of paper. When you flicked it open between your fingers, you saw an address written on it. Having this on hand was dangerous, but then, what happened if he was killed or went missing? How would his family know what happened to him? Either someone would show up with the intent to harm, or with the intent to inform. Either way, they would know.
“Give me a few hours,” you said to him and Keith nodded again.
He left without hesitation, using the hood of his jacket to cover his face since his disguise was destroyed in the fight. You watched him disappear down the street, his movements quick and agile. Once Keith was out of sight, you turned to look at Supergirl. Her gaze was also on your hand and arm. Though she didn’t look particularly unsettled, you still didn’t like the way she was staring so intently at you. You cleared your throat.
She looked at you with bright, blue eyes and swallowed. “Thank you for taking care of that.”
Her gaze swept over the area to see the bodies that still littered the street. She could see that everyone was still alive, but taking a well-deserved dirt nap after the stunt that they pulled.
Checkpoints? Really?
Before you could blink, Supergirl shot her heat vision at all the metal barricades and discarded scanners. There was a small spark, the energy of her attack vaporizing the metal clean through before everything exploded and went up in flames. Chunks of metal flew into the sky, the explosion unfurling outwards and into the air. Then, warped shrapnel and mangled wiring rained onto the street, littering the asphalt in more destruction. The stench of acrid electrical fire was quick to chase away the clean air, and while you cleared your throat and faced away from it, it didn’t phase Supergirl. Shortly after, the bright glow in her eyes dissipated, the vibrant blue of her eye color back in full force. When she turned to look at you, she sighed. It was then that you noticed how exhausted she looked.
The past several weeks was hell on everyone that wanted things to go back to normal. Everyday people that wanted to live their lives in peace were having their streets overrun by zealots in masks daily. These were people that wanted nothing more than to co-exist peacefully with whoever came to Earth. Like you, they recognized that it wasn’t the aliens tearing National City apart. Of course, there was the occasional alien that made home and renters’ insurance as expensive as it was, but even Supergirl got her days off with them. As of late, she was working around the clock, fighting and cleaning up the messes that the Children of Liberty have made.
“Need a drink?” you asked her, and she nodded.
You watched as she ran a hand through her hair, her eyes softly fluttering when she sighed heavily.
“Gods, yes.”
You didn’t say more. With Keith’s information secured in your pocket, you continued your commute to Al’s bar with Supergirl by your side.
+++
The shift in energy was immediate the moment you entered the bar. Actually. It wasn’t you. It was Supergirl. The moment her red boots creaked against the aged hardwood floor, you heard chairs scrape noisily against the ground as some patrons jumped to their feet. A suffocating silence swept across the bar, one that was occasionally marred by loud whispers. You hesitated, but ultimately, didn’t care enough to ask. She didn’t hesitate either, her muscular legs taking her to the bar where Al stood and easily polished a glass.
“Al, can I get an Altruvian beer please?”
He raised his eyebrows, his eyes wise beyond his looks as he reached beneath the bar to hand over her coveted beer.
“And you?” he asked.
“I need something that’s going to make me forget the last several weeks,” you answered.
At that he chuckled, but underneath it, something about the statement was more harrowing than hilarious. Al very much felt the same. It was why he stepped up security. He didn’t have too much in his life on Earth, but he had this bar, and it was the closest thing to a safe haven that he would ever get. He wouldn’t let anyone take it away from him. He nodded solemnly, though his lips were still upturned into something resembling a smile, and poured a dark brown liquid into a glass mug.
“Be careful with this,” he warned as he gave it to you. “For Supergirl, this would knock her on her ass. For humans, this could easily kill you.”
You raised your eyebrows while looking at him. “That’s daring. You’re not concerned that I could die here?”
Al shook his head, looking easy and relaxed. “I’ve learned long ago how to dispose of a human body.”
Despite how macabre the topic was, that forced you to smile, the first real smile that you’ve had in a while, and you paid Al for the drinks while Supergirl went to find a booth. Everyone watched her walk by, their gazes a mixture of panic and tension, but the moment everyone watched her unclip her cape from her body and plop into one of the booths, they all looked at each other. She took a deep gulp of her beer, her eyes fluttering at the taste while its coolness chased away the dryness in her throat.
“Unclench, guys!” she called out while she toasted her drink to no one in particular. “I’m trying to get fucked up.”
That earned her a surprised guffaw, but it worked. Everyone looked at her, watching her as she kicked up her legs and rested them on the surface of the table. She looked like she just clocked out of a grueling shift. In a way, she was. But as the other patrons took in her body language, they realized that Supergirl wasn’t going to raid the establishment or turn anybody in. You joined her on the opposite side of the booth, sighing heavily yourself before you took a modest sip of your drink.
Based on how Al described it, you expected it to be gross, not that you were drinking it for the taste, but you genuinely expected it to taste like rubbing alcohol. If anything, it went down smooth and sweet, like a soda without the carbonation. You hummed in surprise, nodding at your drink while you sat back against the cushions. Supergirl took another hefty drink of her beer and closed her eyes.
The bar was always soft and ambient. It wasn’t meant to be a sports bar, with a rowdy and raucous atmosphere. No. It was meant to be softer, gentler. The lights were warm and soothing. Everyone who visited the bar was quiet and kept to themselves. Damien was the first to introduce you to this place, and you continued to come here for years. You cracked the knuckles of your free hand while your other held the beer to your lips. That’s when you noticed Supergirl looking at you. She wasn’t looking at you intensely. She wasn’t judging you. Her eyes were simply curious as she took in your metal arm. Thanks to the fight that happened, your sleeve was completely shredded and unable to hide the appendage from wandering eyes.
You looked at her, meeting her gaze head on as you quirked an eyebrow.
“What you did,” she began, her eyes shifting between your body and face intermittently. “It was pretty impressive.
You knew what she was seeing. The muscles. The brawn. The arm. The few scars that couldn’t be hidden beneath clothing. All you did was shrug.
“You do more every day,” you answered dismissively, and she nodded, conceding to that statement.
“I meant for a human.”
“I know.”
“Why would you do it? You didn’t know that man. You didn’t have to put your life on the line like that.”
You looked at her, placing your beer back on the table as her eyes watched the fluid movements of your robotic arm.
“I didn’t put my life on the line. I cleaned up a mess that none of us made but are still paying for.”
Supergirl toasted to that. “Well put.”
“You want to ask, don’t you?” you pointed out while meeting her gaze.
Supergirl hesitated, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth while she considered asking. You told Keith that you were in the wrong place. She wanted to accept the answer for what it was. After all, it was an explanation enough when conversing with strangers, but it’s been a while since she’s seen humans like you. Mostly, they were augmented criminals from underground organizations such as Cadmus, but Supergirl was sure that she’s never interacted with you personally beyond today. She would remember seeing someone with a metal arm. She squinted, the curiosity within her getting too strong for her to ignore, and her eyes widened.
It wasn’t just your left arm. It was also your right leg. She could see through the layers of you, past clothing, skin, and muscle. Her vision highlighted your bones while also highlighting the metal, wiring, and circuitry that made up your appendages. Immediately, she looked at you, her x-ray vision dissipating to reveal all of you again.
You were a cyborg.
You knew what happened, and you knew what she saw. Your facial expression remained neutral, almost stoic. You supposed that if you had x-ray vision and were curious, it couldn’t be helped. Still...you didn’t like the idea of being exposed in front of her, even if Supergirl didn’t mean you any harm.
“Can I ask?” she murmured softly, her expression softening enough that you felt a slight ache in your chest.
It was hard when people regarded you with fear or disgust, but it was reactions like this that made your heart hurt. It wasn’t the sympathy or pity. You didn’t care for those either and had met those with indifference as the years passed. But it was this, the way Supergirl was looking at you so softly, so gently, like in that moment, she would handle you tenderly if given the chance. The only person that treated you like that was Damien.
“It’s not a happy story,” you warned.
“It rarely is.”
You nodded. “Several years ago, I used to be in the military.”
At that, she raised her eyebrows, but you were already shaking your head.
“I was humanitarian aid, shipped internationally when countries and governments requested help.”
“What kind of help?” she asked.
“The real kind,” you answered. “The one where I delivered food and water. The one where I administered vaccines and basic health care. The one where people were met with a healing touch and not a bullet. The help that matters.”
You shrugged. “I was with my crew, driving in a Humvee. I don’t remember much,” you recounted, your eyes unfocusing from the woman in front of you. “I just remember the heat and the sand. We were in a desert, and we accidentally drove over an IED. We were in the middle of a civil war. We were there to help the innocents, so mainly the women, children, and elderly, and we had clear instructions to remain out of the way of the fighting and to not engage. The driver, he didn’t see it. Not with the blinding sun. Whoever made it, created it to camouflage with the sand completely.”
Supergirl’s expression turned tragic, like she already knew how this was going to end. Maybe she did. The writing was on the wall.
“There were four of us in the vehicle. The moment my captain ran over the IED, it detonated. It sent shrapnel and metal through the bottom, killing him on impact. The soldier to his right was ejected from the passenger seat through the window. I was in the back, and if it wasn’t for the seat, I would have had more metal buried into my body. Unfortunately, that was my only saving grace. The explosion from the device caused a chain reaction. Something happened to the Humvee, the vehicle exploding so fast that all I remember was fire engulfing me before everything went black.”
Supergirl listened to you with rapt attention. Al already delivered her another beer, and while she held the cool beverage in her hand, it went unconsumed while she watched you.
“I woke up, seconds later, to chunks of the destroyed Humvee crushing my leg. My right arm was mangled in the explosion.”
“And the others?”
“Only one of them survived. The one that was ejected during the initial blast.”
“Oh, god.”
“The pain was so intense that I thought that I’d die. I was surrounded by fire, death, smoke, blood, and agony. When I lost consciousness again, I thought that it was the end of me. Instead, I woke up in a medical tent days later. That’s when they told me that the damage was so bad that the only way to save me and preserve what was left was to amputate my arm and leg.”
You paused and took a drink from your mug, your mouth suddenly dry from talking so much. Supergirl didn’t interrupt. She continued to sit and listen, her fingers idly tracing the glass bottle in her hand.
“A few days later, I was shipped home. An honorable discharge while pieces of me were missing. I felt sick. My ability to live independently had been stripped away from me, but more than that, I survived what others didn’t. I didn’t know how to take it. Normal prosthetics wouldn’t work on me since they required a functional joint. I was missing entire limbs. So, I turned to drugs and alcohol to cope. My roommate, well he watched me devolve, helpless to do anything but watch me rot away in my room. He carried me through that time. If not for him, I would have wasted away. Seeing me become a shell of who I was pushed him to help me.”
“Your roommate, is he an alien?” she asked and you nodded inconspicuously. Not everyone in here needed to know that, so when she asked, she whispered it. You appreciated that.
“He’s from a planet of genius inventors or something like that. With access to technology and resources miles ahead of what we have as humans, he made these,” you explained as you turned your metal hand in the light. The warmth of it glinted off the shiny surface. “I haven’t looked back.”
“And your physique?”
“What of it?” you asked but Supergirl gave you a knowing look.
“Look, humans can do many amazing things, especially things outside of the physical limits of their bodies, but I’ve never seen anyone handle five men in a fight like that. What you did was inexplicable...nay impossible by usual standards. I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen it all, but I’ve never seen anyone do what you did.”
You nodded knowing that there wasn’t a point in lying to her.
“I was told that I coded multiple times while they tried to save me. The injuries, the blood loss, it all got to be too much. I was injected with...something. Something that made my body stronger. Too bad it couldn’t save my limbs.”
You grew quiet, your expression melancholic as you sagged against the bench. “Too bad it couldn’t save me.”
You whispered it to yourself, but Supergirl heard it. “But you’re alive. You’re sitting right here.”
You shrugged, despondent. “You’re right. I’m alive. I can continue to live, but I wasn’t saved. I survived.”
Immediately, Supergirl understood the difference. It was small, and to some people, it was tenuous. Most people would assume that you should be grateful to live another day, and while she couldn’t say for sure how you felt about it, she could say that she empathized. It was how she felt about her parents and her home. Yes, she was alive, but she felt alone sometimes. Kal-El was the last direct line to her culture and her home, and even then, he hadn’t known Krypton like she did. He was a baby when he was put on the pod. In comparison, Supergirl was a teenager.
There were many times when she wished that she hadn’t survived, where she wasn’t forced to live a reality in which she had to live without her birth family. Of course, she would always be grateful to the Danvers for opening their home to her, but it wasn’t the same. Not really.
Supergirl sighed before sinking more into her seat. She was tipsy now, the alcohol doing the thing she needed, which was to numb all the helplessness, dread, fear, and anger that she’s felt for the past several weeks. She could feel the stress bleed away from her along with the subtle lowering of her inhibitions. You were quiet too as you paced yourself, the effects of the alcohol hitting you harder than you anticipated. You’d only taken three deep drinks too because when you looked down, you realized that over half of your drink remained. Al wasn’t kidding. This could literally kill a human, but you got what you asked for.
The intimate space around you was filled with a heavy kind of silence. It was nothing uncomfortable, but it was charged with an energy that was palpable to you. It carried the weight of two survivors, ones that have seen their fair share of the atrocities that people can commit. They came out stronger, but not unscathed.
“Aren’t you tired of it all?” Supergirl asked you after drinking the last few gulps of her beer. Al brought her another and eyed her.
“That’s your last one for the night, hon. I want to make sure that you get home safely.” He looked at you. “How’s the drink?”
“I don’t think that I’ll remember anything from tonight,” you admitted.
At that, Al smirked. “Good! Then it did its job.”
When he returned to the bar, you regarded Supergirl with her question in mind.
“All the time,” you murmured. “All the damn time. Sometimes, I’m so tired that it gets to the point that I wonder why I bother waking up in the morning.”
“What keeps you going?” she asked you and you shrugged.
“I don’t know most days. Sometimes it’s to pretend to be human. Sometimes, it’s because I don’t know what else to do. Mostly, it’s to protect my roommate.”
She nodded again, idly sipping her beer as she stared at the glossy, wooden table. “I feel the same. I wake up wondering why I’m doing this. Every day, there’s a new foe, a new villain, but I fight because this is my home. But now I see the way humans treat aliens and I’m wondering if this place is worth protecting. I know that I fit in and I’m not overlooking that at all. I can hide and fit in when I need to. It’s just that I’m an alien too. The same people I protect are protesting me.”
She’s had this talk before. A talk that was very one sided, where she tried to express how hurt she was that people wanted her gone and off the planet like she had somewhere else to go. And if she asked her friends, especially her sister, Supergirl was told that people have the legal right to protest her. Alex brought up the time she was infected with red kryptonite and how she turned against the city. The fear she inspired in people. The violence she inflicted. It was a night she could never forget. While it had been something that was literally out of her control, she still felt horrible about the situation. Since, she’s spent months and months making up for a single night that wasn’t her fault.
“It isn’t fair,” you agreed and she looked at you, her eyes wide and watery with sudden tears that she tried to fight. “Everyone has the right to protest whatever they want, but to protest something implies an injustice was done to warrant that reaction. You save people. You make sure that the city is safe so that people can get home to their families, and yet, the very people you save want you gone. They are calling you a roach and are demanding for you to leave Earth.”
The moment you said it, the tears spilled and she sniffled, but her face remained stoic. You managed to say the quiet part out loud, the one thing that upset her soul since the surgency of the Children of Liberty. Supergirl could admit that she wasn’t perfect. She was far from it. If people wanted to protest her for something reasonable, then she would get out of the way and let their voices be heard with grace. But they wanted her gone for something that she couldn’t help. They didn’t want her gone for the things she did. No. The public wanted Supergirl gone because she happened to be born an alien and had powers that she didn’t have a choice in having.
That was her only sin. And Supergirl knew that if that anyone had kryptonite, they would use it against her.
“Thanks for saying that,” she replied, wiping her damp, tear-stricken cheeks on the blue material of her shoulder.
You nodded, about to say more, when the unwanted arrival of someone tall and hulking stopped at the edge of your booth. He only looked at you, his eyes slitted with anger and hatred in them.
“Can I help yo-?” Supergirl tried but he cut her off with a derisive grunt.
“Not you, Girl of Steel,” he growled, his eyes not leaving you. “Her. This human.”
You looked at him, not at all intimidated by his stature or attitude. Your eyebrow raised in annoyance while you sipped on your drink. He took in the fact that your entire left arm was metal. His pupils were slitted, like a cat’s, and as he stared you down, you saw the nictitating membrane protecting his golden eyes. He looked slightly...reptilian? Ichthyic? You didn’t know, but he did have scales dusting his exposed skin. Beyond that, you couldn’t see anymore of him that was out of the ordinary.
When you didn’t answer him, he wrenched the mug from your hand, the alcohol sloshing off the side of the glass, and he set it aside. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his hands, palms down, against the wooden table to lean on it.
“You have some balls showing up here, human,” he spat. It was clear where his disdain was aimed towards, and you sighed heavily, suddenly tired. “Where’s your mask? I’ve never seen any of you Liberty fuckers without one.”
“I don’t have a mask,” you answered simply.
He scoffed. “Whatever. All humans are good liars. You’re no exception.”
You didn’t say anything, beyond over this conversation. You’ve come to Al’s Dive Bar multiple times before, and he was welcoming if you abided by his number one rule: don’t be a fucking asshole. All you wanted was a drink, and he provided one when you paid. This was simply transactional. No more, no less. Until now, you’ve never had a reason to be confrontational.
“Hey, Ratchet!” Al barked from behind his bar. “Cut it out, man!”
“Why??” he demanded. “Why should we stop? Why should we be forced to hide while humans hunt us down??” He jabbed an accusatory finger against your chest, his eyes flashing with anger. “What makes you so special?”
“I haven’t done anything to you,” you said, knowing that it wasn’t going to deescalate the situation.
He snarled, his visibly long and sharp canines glinting in the warm light as he ground his teeth together.
“I don’t give a fuck what you did and didn’t do. You’re a human in an alien bar,” he sneered, pointing out the obvious. “Your kind calls us roaches and executes us in broad daylight, and you think that you have the right to be here?!”
Everyone was staring now. Some were surprised. Others shared in his sentiment though they wouldn’t go as far as to make a scene in public. For some others, they didn’t care.
It was true that at this exact moment, you were the only human in the bar, but Al let you in all the same because he trusted you and he knew that you wouldn’t start anything. You could have pointed that out. You could have said anything that you wanted. None of it would have mattered. Ratchet, if that was truly his name, was itching for a fight and he assumed that you would be a worthy target, whether you did anything or not. His hateful gaze fell from your face and to your exposed arm again, the one appendage that garnered any attention these days. A disbelieving scoff tore from parted lips.
“Is that Aridian metal?” he demanded, his unusual and accusatory eyes widening in disbelief. “Did you steal metal from an alien and make a fucking arm? Seriously?! So, you hate aliens and wish us all gone or dead, but then you help yourself to our inventions??”
Again, you stared at him, silent. No part of you had to explain your circumstances, but more than that, you didn’t want to. It wouldn’t change anything. His mind was already made up and nothing you could have said was going to deter him. Supergirl quirked an eyebrow, rolled her eyes, and sighed tiredly. She ran her hands down the length of her face.
“Oh my god!” she groaned while exasperation dripped from her voice.
There was a slight hiccup, and a hitched breath, before Supergirl stumbled upright. One of her hands planted itself on the table to support her drunken movements. She seemed to struggle, and both you and Ratchet stared at her in varying degrees of shock and concern at how clumsy she was. To be fair, four empty bottles sat, empty, on the table while you were about halfway through your one drink. Supergirl never got drunk, or at least, she never got drunk like this while she was in uniform. She swayed, her eyes crossing a bit before she lurched to the side and towards Ratchet. Supergirl moved too fast for you, her Kryptonian speed and drunkenness making a very volatile combination. The result was her fist colliding violently into Ratchet’s cheek. There was a nauseating crunch, one that made you flinch at the suddenness of it, and you gasped in shock as Supergirl sent Ratchet and herself sprawling onto the floor.
The table flipped, your hand snatching your coveted drink before it could spill. The empty bottles were less fortunate, and soon, the sounds of shattering glass cut through the tense atmosphere. You heard Al curse harshly as you got onto your feet and moved away. Supergirl laughed weakly, her giggles filling the air as she settled on her back. Ratchet was wailing in agony. His webbed fingers clutched at his jaw, and it sat crookedly and unnaturally to the side. Her punch shattered the joint, the bone broken and mangled. Tears filled his eyes while his movements turned frenzied.
He was trying to scream, but with him being unable to move his jaw, it was more of a pitiful wail than anything else. Still, you could make out the rather colorful expletives and his cries of pain. Al rolled his eyes and was gone from the bar, his huskier frame easily cutting through the patrons that were now gathering around the unfolding scene.
“Supergirl, we’ve talked about this,” he said gently. His voice was more of a stern father than anything else. At most, Al was very disappointed.
Supergirl managed a weak and uncoordinated shrug, but she didn’t make any moves to get off the dirty floor.
“Ratchet was being a....” she trailed off, her eyes opening and staring at the roof when she lost her train of thought.
She was that inebriated.
“... a bitch! This asshole was accusing her of something heinous when just today she saved someone named Keith.”
Al raised his eyebrows and looked at you. “Batman?”
In the literal sense of the word, yes you supposed that Keith would literally be a bat and a man. It was easy to see how he got the nickname. That made you smile with slight amusement, but you didn’t answer. Supergirl groaned, her fingers rubbing her eyes as she rolled to her side. Al gently patted your back, a smile of approval gracing his features, before he grabbed Ratchet by his arm, hoisted him up, and hauled him to the back of the bar. You could hear his cries as he went, his hands still clutching his broken jaw as he wailed pitifully.
Everyone else, once the spectacle ended, shuffled back to their seats and resumed their conversations quietly. You eyed your glass, the mug half full when you decided that you had enough for tonight. You could already feel the effects of the alcohol in your system, and you sighed as you put the mug down. Supergirl was still on the floor, her hands tangled into her hair and gripping the strands while she lied on her back. She groaned, her eyes squeezed shut while the alcohol she consumed assaulted her senses. You couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her there. Though you knew of her as a long-time resident of National City, you didn’t really know her. And you didn’t know if she would be okay by herself.
“Oh, my Gooooood,” she slurred. “Is the room spinning as much as I think it is???”
You shook your head. “You’re drunk.”
“I am???” she demanded comically. “How bad is it?”
You raised your eyebrows while looking towards the back of the bar. You could hear Al trying to calm Ratchet down, but a broken jaw was hard to reconcile. The pain he felt must have been excruciating.
“You broke a man’s jaw. So... you’re very drunk.”
Her eyes snapped open and widened in horror. “Oh, fuck. Really???”
Now she was on the verge of tears, her voice unsteady and high-pitched. Supergirl, the famed Girl of Steel, was an emotional drunk. You honestly never would have guessed. With it all unfolding, you stood there awkwardly as she sniffled. Everyone else in the bar spared her second glances but didn’t make any further comments. Was this a regular occurrence? You felt someone tap your shoulder and you looked at them.
“Hey, this is kind of a regular thing, especially when things go to shit in the city. It happens. Usually, she passes out relatively soon.”
On cue, you heard snoring, your gaze panning back down to the red and blue clad body that was spread eagle on the floor. It was comical, and you snorted.
“She’s not left here, is she?” you asked, and the person shook their head.
“Nah, usually she calls someone before she gets to that point, but more often than not, Lena Luthor has to come to collect her.”
That made sense. As much as they tried to be discreet about it, everyone knew that Supergirl and Lena Luthor were dating. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, especially when all the assassination attempts against Lena screeched to a rather abrupt and violent halt. Last you heard, Supergirl briefly paused her morals when an assassin got too close. She punched him so hard that he turned into a cloud of red mist and a soupy puddle of bloody entrails. It was so grisly. The news stations couldn’t air the evidence on television and that earned her a lengthy court battle.
After the court deemed it an accident due to impulsivity, Supergirl was enrolled into anger management and only those who are truly desperate, or have a death wish, choose to piss her off like that. That same assassin put a bullet right in between Lena’s ribs too, and if that’s what happened, then you could hardly fault Supergirl for her reaction. If anything happened to Damien, you would burn this city to the ground just to watch it smolder into ash.
You were in this dilemma where you wanted to send Supergirl home safe and sound, but you had no one to contact. You sighed, already planning your next steps when you leaned over, scooped Supergirl into your arms, and stood up with her tucked safely into your chest. She hummed contentedly, her nose burying itself into your neck as she inhaled your scent. Beside you, everyone suddenly fell silent as they stared at you in shock. You stared back, not liking the sudden and intense stares falling on you and Supergirl.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Uh, no,” the person beside you answered. “It’s just that Supergirl rarely lets anyone touch her. You think she’s crazy when awake? She’s a certified crash out when drunk.”
Obviously. Ratchet had the broken jaw to prove that. As for the rest of that statement, you weren’t so sure. Maybe she really was that drunk that she couldn’t operate. You looked at her and shrugged.
“Anyway, sorry for the disturbance,” you said, your voice polite as you exited the bar with Supergirl and her cape in your hold.
The moment that you made it outside, Supergirl suddenly woke up, bolting upright in your arms so fast that you jumped and almost dropped her.
“Oh, fuck!” she gasped, her eyes searching her surroundings wildly. “Where the fuck am I?! I need to get to L-Corp!”
She struggled to upright herself, her attention fully on trying to leave than the fact that you were holding her. Her legs were shaky as she kicked off into the sky, her body taking her higher into the air and further away from you. You don’t know what came over you, but the idea of her flying home drunk just didn’t sit well in your chest. What if she flew into buildings? What if she flew through them?? The possibility of it wasn’t zero, and while you knew that it wouldn’t be your responsibility, you wouldn’t want her to wake up in a strange place on an even stranger couch in someone’s home.
Before she could leave you completely, you grabbed her hand. It wasn’t hard, and you were consciously gentle, but it was enough to yank her back down into your space. Her body collided into yours, chest to chest when her boots slammed onto the cement sidewalk of the derelict warehouse district. Her reaction was immediate, her eyes widening and her eyebrows furrowing in anger as she sent a right hook your way.
Reactive and impulsive this up close, but this time, you were ready.
You caught it easily with your metal hand, your body dodging the impact just in time to feel the blow back. Your other hand held her close by the hip. Under her strength, the metal groaned but held, and you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“What the hell do you think that you’re doing???” she demanded, but her eyes widened the moment that she saw you. It was like she was seeing you for the first time all over again.
To your horror, Supergirl giggled. She actually giggled. Her demeanor change was jarring, but her giggling was enough to make you take a step back. With her free hand, she tucked some of her tousled blonde hair behind her ear.
“What’s up??”
You blinked and stared at her. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
She scoffed and did something else that rendered you speechless. Supergirl jumped back into your arms. It was so sudden that you struggled to catch her correctly, but she was already snuggled against your muscular frame before you even had the chance to process what happened.
“With a face card like that, I don’t give a damn. You’re handsome as fuck.”
You gulped, her comet blue eyes devouring you in a way that made you feel like maybe she was using her x-ray vision for something so wildly inappropriate that you didn’t even want to consider it.
“I-I…” you tried, but Supergirl’s knowing smirk made you stutter. “I was going to take you home to Lena Luthor.”
“At this time of night, she should be at work.”
“Then to L-Corp we go.”
You started the commute, walking in silence. You weren’t paying attention to Supergirl until you heard the light snoring emanating from her. Not even three minutes into the walk and she was asleep again. Hopefully she would stay that way this time.
It was, surprisingly, a quiet night. Given the level of violence that the city was seeing these last few weeks, you thought that you would have to dodge more Children of Liberty shit stains, but mostly everyone was safe and sound in their homes. It was peculiar, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
You looked down to gaze at the woman in tow. She was truly beautiful. Tan skin. Dirty blonde hair. Light freckles dusting her cheeks. She was the literal definition of otherworldly beauty. She was all lean muscle and firm abs… if what you were feeling against your body was anything to go by. And for a second, you felt like a perv because you really could feel her musculature. You wondered if she was just like that, or if she regularly worked out. If so, how can someone who was strong enough to lift a space station into space possibly work out here on Earth?
Honestly, inquiring minds wanted to know.
It took some time, but you finally made it to the entrance of L-Corp. The building was truly iconic. A glass skyscraper at the heart of the city. One that was damn near impenetrable too since Lena Luthor took it over. Security had been ramped to the max considering everything that happened since she first moved to National City.
Assassination attempts. Thwarted internal coups. Stolen tech. And now this. Honestly, you didn’t envy the woman.
If you were in her shoes, you would be so exhausted. L-Corp was empty at this time of night, perhaps a precaution to all of the things that were happening. There was no sense in keeping everyone here where they would be in even more danger as the sun went down. You stepped closer to the door and pressed the buzzer for the intercom.
“Yes? May I help you?” came a soft-spoken voice.
“Hello, Ms. Luthor. I know that this is incredibly unorthodox, but I have-”
“Lenaaaaaaaa!” Supergirl cheered, her voice loud and obnoxious in the stifling night air.
You blanched, your automatic reaction to shush her before you swallowed it down. You realized that you were in the safest place to be right now, whether Supergirl was sober or not. There was a sigh from the speaker box, one that bordered on an amused huff, before Lena cleared her throat.
“Yes. I’ve been calling you all night.”
Supergirl giggled and kicked her feet. “You should see what I brought home!”
Your eyes widened. Was she referring to you? By the way she was cuddling closer into your body, you were inclined to believe that she was.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” you interjected. “My only intention was to ensure that Supergirl got home safe.”
“Don’t apologize,” Ms. Luthor said. “I’d be more than happy to thank you in person.”
You heard the buzzing of the door, and went to reach for it, when Supergirl scoffed.
“The front door? Really? You bitches are boring.”
Her last sentence was your only warning. Then, strong hands grabbed you and snatched you right into the air. The world spun around you, a gasp of fear and shock tearing from your chest when the distance between the ground and your feet increased rapidly.
“Fuck!” you swore, your hands grappling at Supergirl tightly as her arms wrapped around your torso to keep you in her hold.
“On the first date? I’m not usually like that, but if you insist!”
You didn’t know what to make of that, not that you had the capacity to respond. Panic and terror seized you with the strength of a vice. Yeah, you were a soldier, and you’ve found yourself in midair before, but you had equipment… like a parachute for example. You may have metal limbs, and you were enhanced, but most of you was still flesh and bone, and those parts would splatter like a bug on a sidewalk if Supergirl dropped you right now.
Supergirl carried you to the top of L-Corp before gently lowering you onto the balcony. She landed beside you, clutching her stomach when she groaned.
“Yep, I don’t feel so good.”
“Are you-?”
You didn’t get the chance to finish your question. Supergirl rushed to the railing, leaned over it, and vomited. You didn’t know what to do. For a second, you stood there, staring, before you did the only thing that you could think of. You approached her and gently took her hair into your hand, holding it away from her face. Supergirl retched, the contents of her stomach falling hundreds of feet from the air to splatter onto the ground.
From behind you, you heard the sliding glass door unlock before a pair of heels clacked onto the cement. Ms. Luthor came to your side, radiating an air of authority and power that made you want to stand at attention. The moment she was close, you gave her Supergirl’s hair and stepped away, respecting their space and their need for a brief moment of privacy.
“Are you okay, my darling?” she asked Supergirl, and her response was a groan.
“I need to lay down.”
“What you need is water and sleep.”
Supergirl nodded, allowing her girlfriend to wrap an arm around her waist. Ms. Luthor led her away from the balcony once her stomach was empty, her hand smoothing back her sweaty blonde hair from her flushed cheeks. Supergirl stumbled and burped, her breath hitching when you and Lena thought that she was going to vomit again. When they passed you, Ms. Luthor looked you in your eyes.
“Please come in,” she said sincerely.
You nodded, following closely behind her as you stepped into her office and closed the balcony door behind you. You watched as she led Supergirl to an expensive couch and eased her down. Supergirl whimpered as Ms. Luthor took the cape from your hands to fold it neatly in her own. Then, she set the garment down beside the inebriated heroine.
Supergirl released a sigh before waving lazily at you. “Thanks for getting me home, bitch.”
Ms. Luthor clamped her lips together, her eyes widening at what she heard. You, on the other hand, burst into laughter. It was so unexpectedly funny that you snorted. It was the funniest thing that happened to you all day, and when you laughed, it was genuine.
“Please excuse her,” Ms. Luthor said to you as she motioned for you to sit at her desk. You settled in the luxurious seat while she slipped elegantly into her office chair. “How can I thank you?”
Supergirl and Lena Luthor were truly opposites in every way. In both looks and mannerisms, they complimented each other. Where Supergirl was brash and bold, Lena was soft spoken and calm. Where Supergirl was warm yet impulsive. Lena was reserved yet calculating. Where Supergirl’s attraction was otherworldly, Lena Luthor’s was ethereal.
Lena was pale. Not in a way that suggested that she was sick or never got out of the house, but in a way that did suggest that she spent more time in the lab than anywhere else. Despite her lack of sun, she was lean. This woman wasn’t a stranger to lifting weights. You could see it in the way her calves rippled with strength when she walked. You could see it in the cut of her jaw. Ms. Luthor, beyond how she looked, was a woman that knew how to carry herself. She knew how to command a room with sheer presence alone.
Lena Luthor and Supergirl were the literal definition of a power couple. Except…
Power wouldn’t be the word to describe Supergirl in this moment. She retched again before taking a deep, gasping breath. You heard her groan before she turned onto her side and settled like a rock.
“I don’t need anything,” you told her truthfully while checking your phone for the time. “Except that I need to leave right now. Thank you for your time, Ms. Luthor.”
“Please. Call me Lena.”
She took you in, her eyes following the trail of muscles and strength appreciatively. Her smile never faltered, not even when she made it to your metal arm. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow but wasn’t once fearful. If anything, she was mostly curious, just like Supergirl when at the bar.
“Thank you, Lena,” you amended, and you were rewarded with a bright smile. You decided right there that you liked it.
“I hope I’m not being too forward by offering you a job.”
“How do you know that I don’t have one already?”
She raised her eyebrow again, ever observant, especially when her green eyes dipped to your arm to make a point. She had you there. It would be incredibly hard to have a job, and what you’re able to help pay around the house was the money given to you by the government.
“I appreciate people like you, now more than ever. Especially with everything going on. You could have left Supergirl by herself, and yet, you chose to escort her to a place where she would be safe.”
“I could be a horrible person,” you pointed out, and Lena smirked.
“Hardly. I’ve already pulled up your record. Special forces. A soldier. Someone with a conscience. Someone that is willing to do whatever it takes to protect your loved ones.”
You saw her typing for a few seconds on her laptop. Then she stopped and pivoted the device so that the screen faced you. On it, you saw yourself, a profile, and every government record that could be found about you. You swallowed thickly, your heart falling at the prospect of what she could have read. It wasn’t that there was anything incriminating in there that you never wanted anyone to see. It was that she bypassed you and secured access to things about you that not even Damien knew.
“How did you find this?” you asked nervously.
Instead of answering, she reached for a remote and turned on the tv that was in her office. It clicked on to reveal a news station, and they were currently showing a gritty recording of your fight with the Children of Liberty. Your heart almost stopped in your chest. If anyone recognized you, all it would take is a public search of who you are. They wouldn’t even need access to government records. It was incredibly easy to find someone in today’s time, and you found yourself on your feet as your breath froze in your lungs. Lena sensed your urgency, and rose with you, her voice calm and level.
“I’ve already taken care of this.”
“H-How?” you asked, your voice shaky. It wasn’t your own safety that you were worried about. It was Damien’s.
“As a media conglomerate, I have substantial pull in the news business. Your identity is safe. The identity of the alien you saved is safe. No one knows about you or your personal life. I swear it.”
You nodded but you needed the reassurance. You texted your roommate, and it wasn’t until he responded back did you release the breath that you were holding. You took several deep breaths before sinking back into the seat heavily. Lena mirrored your movements, her eyes watching you patiently. She waited for you to speak first, and you appreciated how patient she was with you.
“The job you’re offering, what is it?” you asked.
“I need a bodyguard. Your skills and abilities are just right for the job.”
You looked between Lena and Supergirl. “With all due respect, you’re better off with someone that’s a little bit more...bulletproof.”
At that, Lena smiled. “You’re right, but Supergirl’s duty is to the world. Not just to me, and I have no desire to be selfish. Because if I asked her to protect only me, she would do it in a heartbeat. With the threat as substantial as it is, she is needed more out there than in here. I’ll make the pay worth it, and at the very least, give you Kevlar. I know it’s not the same.”
That made you chuckle because no, it really wasn’t, but something was better than nothing. You needed time to think about it. You needed to make sure that Damien would be okay. You knew that he would be, but you needed to be sure. He was all that you had left in this world. If something happened to him, you don’t know what you’d do.
“Let me think about it.”
Lena nodded. “Of course, your employment with me will include a substantial health and life insurance packages, but that’s a bridge to cross if we get there.”
You nodded again and stood up. Truthfully, today has taken an unexpected turn. Two fights, getting a drunk superhero home, and ending the day with a job offer. You couldn’t have predicted this, but truth be told, this was what you needed. You needed routine again. You needed a sense of normalcy. You were always home, too scared and uncomfortable to let yourself be seen again because of what happened to you. But you needed this. You needed a reason to be out again. You couldn’t be a shut in for the rest of your life. You’ve noticed that as the time passed, the thoughts were growing louder, the emotions behind them heavier. You deserved to feel normal too.
Despite how sudden and overwhelming it was, having Supergirl flirt with you made you blush. It flattered you, and if nothing else, it was entertaining. That was what you needed. Reintegration back into society wasn’t enough. You needed to be a part of it again.
As you stepped away, Lena handed you a slip of paper. On it was her phone number.
“If you need anything, anything at all, don’t be afraid to reach out.”
“Thank you,” you said gratefully as you stepped out of her office and closed the door behind you.
+++
It was hard finding a grocery store open so late at night, but with some searching, you found one. Of course you received many lingering stares the moment you entered, having your metal in full display, but you chose to ignore it. You grabbed a shopping cart and loaded it with everything that you could think of. You even added trash bags, various soaps, detergent, and other hygiene products that you could think of. You hauled a huge load of groceries, having spent hundreds of dollars for Keith so that he and his family would be alright. It took some time with more police officers and thugs on patrol, but you made it to his location.
Keith, if this is where he lived, lived in a suburban area. His house was as unassuming as all the others in his neighborhood. It blended in with every other house near him, and you mentally applauded him for how smart he was. Blending in was better than hiding out. The house was brick with white paneling. The grass was lush and green. Children’s toys decorated the lawn. Colorful chalk and whimsical drawings painted the beige driveway. Various garden plants decorated the outside. It really was a family home, one full of laughter, love, and light. This was what Keith wanted to protect, and it was an honor helping him do so.
You knocked, set the groceries down, and backed up to give space. From behind the door, there were hushed noises. Whispers. Someone was telling someone else to hide. Someone else was instructed to grab a baseball bat.
“Keith, it’s me from earlier.”
Immediately, you heard someone fumble with the locks. There were many of them, mostly deadbolts, but you remained still and as unimposing as can be. When the door opened, it did so slowly and just enough that only one face was revealed. Keith’s.
“Hey,” you greeted warmly.
He recognized your voice, his eyes instantly flooding with tears. He had on a new hologram disguise, one that made him look fully human. But the emotion was real. The fear that had been palpable. The immediate relief that flooded him. The glimmer of hope. Before he could stop them, those tears were already running down his cheeks.
“You came.”
“I did.”
That was all you said. You sprang into action as you hurriedly picked up the groceries and offered them to him. He opened the door to take them, and that’s when you saw his family. Unlike him, they didn’t have disguises, and that was okay. They looked exactly as he had when you saved him at the checkpoint. Fuzz. Spines. Large bat ears. Gray, muted eyes. Three individuals were staring at you. Another man and two little girls. The man was terrified, his hands gripping the baseball bat hard enough to bleach his knuckles, but the girls were curious. They stayed behind him for their safety, but they weren’t scared at all to see you.
Keith noticed you slowing down. When he realized that you weren’t focused on him, he sniffled and cleared his throat.
“This is my family. My husband and our two daughters.”
He faced his husband. “This is the woman that saved me today.”
The change was instantaneous. He dropped the bat, crossed the living room, grabbed your hand, and pulled you inside to hug you.
“You saved him,” he whispered, his voice on the verge of breaking.
You were in Keith’s house now, and the moment he had all the groceries, he immediately closed the door. He peered outside, ensuring that no one saw what happened before fixing all the blinds and curtains back in place.
“Thank you for saving him. Thank you. Thank you.”
You held him, your hand gently stroking his back as you let him have his moment.
“What’s your name?” you asked.
“Mark.”
“Human name?”
Mark chuckled, the sound thick with emotion. “Yeah.”
“I’m happy to help. Please stay safe,” you said.
Keith and Mark thanked you once more while you offered a timid wave to their children. They waved back, giggling shyly as they hid behind their fathers. You took your leave, knowing that the longer you stayed, the more that you would draw attention here. You made sure to commit nothing to memory. No details. Less danger. It was the way that it had to be. As you left, your boots crunched on the loose pebbles on the sidewalk. Behind you, all the locks slid into place, the sounds filling you with a sense of relief.
You started the walk home, your hands sliding into your jacket pockets. The night was eerily quiet. Yes, you were in a residential neighborhood, but silence was no longer a good thing. Not with what lurked in the darkness. You could hold your own, but you preferred to get home relatively unscathed.
It was perhaps twenty minutes of nothingness when you heard a whoosh. It was the sound of something cutting through the air with ease, and when a body landed next to you, you looked into deep, blue eyes.
“Supergirl?”
She gave you an easy smile. “Hey.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” you asked her incredulously.
She waved your concern away. “That was hours ago. It’ll take more than alien beer to keep me in bed.”
You raised an eyebrow but accepted the answer for what it was. “What are you doing here?”
“Walking you home.”
You smirked. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I’m sure that you’ll be. But still. You got me home. The least that I can do is return the favor.”
“If you insist. Though I’d prefer if my feet stay on the ground this time.”
She raised her hands in surrender though she had a bright smile on her face. “I get it. Flying isn’t for everyone.”
She joined you on your walk. The only noises between you and her were the sounds of boots on the sidewalk and the gentle swishes of her cape. Other than that, a comfortable silence surrounded you and her for a long while. That was until she cleared her throat.
“What you did was really nice.”
You weren’t going to pretend to not know what she was talking about. Instead, you looked at her and raised an eyebrow. You weren’t going to berate her. Her knowing just meant that Keith and Mark were on her radar now. That was an extra layer of protection for their family.
“You’re not stalking me, are you?”
Supergirl smiled. “Not intentionally, I promise. I wanted to thank you for everything that you’ve done.”
“No problem. Though I’m sure that you wouldn’t have a problem even while drunk off your ass.”
“Oh, Ratchet?” she asked.
“You know the man that you maimed?”
She laughed. “Yeah, he’s a raging asshole. I only feel a little bad, but his jaw is fine.”
“And here I was thinking that he would be drinking through a straw for the foreseeable future.”
Supergirl gave you a noncommittal shrug. Honestly, you didn’t care either way. If she hadn’t intervened, then you would have to fight him yourself. Better her than you.
“I’m Kara by the way.”
That made you pause mid step and look at her in shock. “I’m sure that the whole point of having a secret identity is to keep it secret, yes?”
“Yeah, but when you’re working with Lena, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me. Both in and out of uniform. And I’m sure that you’ll put it together eventually.”
You gave her a skeptical look. “No ulterior motives?”
At that, Kara blushed, and it confirmed the suspicion that you had of her sense the bar fight. “I mean. What’s wrong with getting to know each other?”
“As friends?”
Maybe something more. Though Kara didn’t say it out loud, you still understood her hesitance for what it was. You turned to look at her fully.
“No bullshit. No games. I’m not here to waste anyone’s time. Not yours and not Lena’s. I’m not a good person to be with.”
Kara shrugged. “Neither was I.” She continued to walk, and you matched her gait. “I was angry. Still am if I’m being honest. I have many things to reconcile with. I was too different. Too alien for some. Not enough alien for others. I lost my home, my culture, and everything else that I’d ever known. Growing up was hard. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t ate away at me. I always thought that I would only ever be Kara, the alter ego, and Supergirl, the hero. That’s it. Until Lena. She showed me that there was a whole other side of myself that I didn’t know existed. Someone deserving of love, and patience, and nurturing. I’m not perfect, but she never asked me to be.”
You listened to her raptly, not interrupting until she paused.
“I don’t know if that’s me,” you admitted.
All your life, you’ve ever been alone. You weren’t used to people sticking around. You weren’t used to people getting close. And when people got close, you were already prepared for them to leave. It was hard dealing with someone who was broken. In every sense of the word. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, you weren’t all put together. You were like that your whole life. Your time in the military just exacerbated it. You were still trying to come to grips with things. To reconcile and move on. Admittedly, you didn’t want to let anyone into your life. Not until you felt like things got better. Until it felt like you were getting better.
You didn’t know if that time would ever come.
“That’s okay if that’s not you. I don’t want you to be anything that you don’t want to be. But you are a good person. That’s enough.”
For right now, it needed to be. The world needed more good people. It needed people that wanted to make a difference, to make things better. That was your place in it for right now. Beyond that, that would be something to consider once the time was right. For now, you and Kara continued to walk in silence. Nothing more was said, but for the first time in a while, it felt easier to breathe.
No expectations. No forced conversation. Just an easy silence under the moonlight.
