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the black raven | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 πƒπ‘π„π€πŒ

☼︎ clark kent ☼︎

Gotham is a hellscape compared to Metropolis' heavenly greeneries. It's almost as if they represent the forces themselves: heaven and hell.

And that might be the best way to put it, especially with the state of things. A week ago I got a call from Alfred Pennyworth. Or his number, but his grandson, Dick Grayson answered. I didn't know what he would've called me for other than the Justice League having to get together, but what I heard contrasted the cold and bitter lonesome I was usually facing from Bruce.

This time, a shaken, heartbroken sounding boy was on the line, and he was practically begging for help. His family, he told me, was in shambles. I didn't know the meaning of that sentence meant until I saw it with my own eyes.

Bruce's family members were in critical condition, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen. I didn't know he was missing until then.

Out of the three hospitalized, Alfred Pennyworth seemed to be in the direst situation. Three of his right ribs had punctured his lung after bearing too much weight and could barely clear any of the poison-laced smoke out of his system without a ventilator. And with the way his head hit the ground, bloodletting was the least of his worries. To maintain a healthy skull, one doesn't want a blood clot to pool up at the bottom of one's head.

And this isn't even accounting for the rest of his scathed body from the full blast of a bomb.

His state is being monitored at all hours, and not just by me. By the best doctors that Gotham has, I assume. It's been more difficult to see the impact this has on the conscious members of the family; they see him like a grandfather no matter the genes in their makeup.

And that's not including Bruce's only biological children, Mara and Damian.

Mara, the lesser of the physical injuries. Damian is the frailer of the two. However, both are awake.
Both are still confined to their beds, I haven't made my presence known to Mara yet. I don't think it'd help her to see someone other than her Father in her room first.

"Clark?" A voice pipes up from behind me. I turn to face a freshly-showered Dick Grayson, who I haven't seen since Bruce brought him to Metropolis all those years ago. I remember him to be about twelve, and now here he is, an fully grown adult.

Things change over time, I've learned. Both Bruce and I have expanded our families, and we both still have stayed in contact over the years. I moved to Smallville with Lois, Jordan, and Jonathan just this past year, and so much has happened since.

But right now that's not my concern. Right now my concern is the Wayne family.

"Hey, Dick. How are you?" I can't think to ask anything else, and I make sure to check in with the rest of the family daily. He brings in a heavy breath, his eyes darting to the ground.

He shakes his head, "I'm not the one you should be worrying about." His hand snakes to rub the back of his neck. He's bubbling with anxiety.

"You're right, I'm not supposed to be worrying about you. I'm supposed to be worried about all of you," I don't demand this - I don't want to be too harsh at all - but I'll be damned if this doesn't get through to Dick. I watch his head raise, his dark eyes leveling with mine.

"And we're all very appreciative of that, but you've done enough for us already-"

"Dick, stop it. I'm not going to hear it, especially not from you. I know Bruce trained you to be the next Batman, but he didn't train me. When someone asks for help, I see it through," I take a step closer as Dick's eyes narrow, "And that's what I'm planning on doing here, with you and your family."

And then it's a brief moment of hospital silence, only distant voices and click of monitors filling the thin, glass-like air. For a moment I think the little boy I saw all those years ago was going to show me what Bruce Wayne could do to someone - really what he couldn't do for someone he loves -, but I was proven wrong.

Thankfully, I think as I welcome Dick's embrace. And that's when it hits me: his arms were too tight, and his hands fisted on my back were a dead giveaway, that this poor boy had skin made of clay.
He's been set out to dry too long in the sun.

By the time I'd made a round to Tim and Damian, although Damian barely responded, I'd seen enough.

Tim was like a wet canvas that had just been rained on, with the usually wide-ranging colors of his emotions falling off the edge of his control every which way.

Damian, however, was more like the Great Wall of China, sturdy, unmoving, and heavy with battle scars. His mind I could read without words. He'd put up a wall and blocked out everyone.

And here Dick was, the only one holding this family together, and you didn't need x-ray vision to see he was cracking quickly under the pressure. Without any parental guide and his siblings spiraling every which way, this family could fall apart quicker much more rapidly than I thought possible.


β–‘ mara β–‘

"Mara," A soothing, coaxing voice tugs at me. It taps my shoulder, knicks my cheek.

I raise a hand up to rub the spot where the cool ache settles, only to feel a liquid sink into the pores of my fingerpad.

I pull my fingers back, slowly. It's dark and fast, but I can't see the color-- I can't see any vibrant color. Only black and white, with shadows a dark grey and highlights a light grey. It surrounds me.

Instead of focusing on that I turn a full 360, trying to see who spoke. All I see is white, just a vast blankness, all for one contrast that I have to squint my eyes to see because it hurts.

It's a black chair, waiting for me to sit. I can practically hearing it calling my name.

Mara. Mara. Mara!

It gets louder as I walk towards the chair, having nothing else to do and nowhere to go. But once I get as close as six feet, my heart thumps. Loud and hard, in one big jump. It seemed to hit my lungs with the force of a semi truck- BAM! My knees tremble and I start to stumble forward, closer and closer to the chair.

Quickly I lose my breath, my lungs pushing and shoving to get something to help me but they can't. Something is stopping them, and I can feel it, but I just can't do anything about it. Hot, thick, and sticky is the sensation that I feel clumping in my lungs. I hit my chest with my fist, my eyes moving rapidly and I hit the floor hard.

My body crumples on the floor, convulsing without permission with flashes of bright lights, masked people standing over me, and faint shouts burning into my head.

This is it, my head attempts that thought as I choke, while my throat burns and my eyes pouring out liquid pain. I know I'm not going to make it, and I just barely knuckle the only thing nearby-

I'm in a field.

A wide, open field with grass stalks up to my knees.

The breeze sways them back and forth, sending a small chill down my back. The suns warmth peeks out from the clouds, settling over me. The sky is a lighter blue, the clouds a bright white. The sun a bright yellow, but it doesn't hurt my eyes to look at it.

The air feels light, like a feather, just like the smell. Everything smells like vanilla or a fresh, clean bedsheet. Calm and carefree.

I breath out quietly, a smile cracking open. I can't help it.

I peer around, looking only to see a dim line of trees to my left and behind me, while to my right and ahead is hills over hills of fieldwork. It all seems so.. perfect. Nothing to worry about, no one to converse with. Just me.

I don't have to fight, I don't have to argue, I don't have to defend. It's a weight off my chest like never before. Like all the pain I've felt is being carried off to somewhere beyond with the breeze. From the body aches because of a ceiling toppling over me, from the sharp, white-hot sting of a bullet in my side to the quiet voices that splinter my mind, all over a choice I never made.

Thoughts that seeth, dripping with blood for what my Father did: letting my brother die. For letting get murdered. For letting his skull become plastered to the cement in a graveyard of old toys and run down memories of sanity.

The sky is bleeding. Dripping with raven stormclouds and bloody tears.

It's angry.

At the ignorance that a sliver of me believes, even with all the lies I'd been fed since I got here. And this collage of reds that surrounds me wants to consume me, I can feel it vibrating in my bones.

Something is out there, and it wants me. Wants me to let it in, wants me to let it consume all that's left of that false hope I hide deep inside. It wants it gone.

A head rises from the grass.

I am not alone.

A girl sits up a little ways away. From my spot I can see that she's wearing a black outfit, matching her hair. She doesn't move from her spot. I inhale as a sharper wind cuts at my back, my shirt blowing around with the gusts. The wind has picked up, and a darker cloud, one that I had noticed to be the only one with rain falling from it had grown bigger. Gone further, coming closer to me.

It was at the edge of the forest before this girl showed up. The wind didn't cut at me before she showed up. I want to call out to her but something stops me. It's deep and gutteral in my sternum, wrapping a hypothetical hand on my throat and stopping me. It's an instinct, and if I wasn't feeling uncomfortable before, I feel it bloom into a panic.

The girl looks at me.

"Mara..." The voice from before echoes in the wind. A chill runs down my arms, raising the hairs on my neck.

Usually from this far away you wouldn't be able to tell that one would be looking at you in the eyes, but I know she is. Actually, she looks deeper than just my wide eyes-- she seems like she's looking into my mind.

"Mara." Again, the female voice.

It's more demanding but still reigns a soft and silky.

My head pounds, my eyes sting. The wind nips at my clothes, whipping them back and forth. My heartbeat thumps now as I blink, and in that instant I jerk back. Thunder booms and I see a black streak of light streak across the sky, but that's not what sets me tumbling backwards.

The girl is standing now.

Closer to me.

And she still stares at me.

I shake my head. I've seen The Ring, and this girl seems pretty similar, minus her contorting out of a TV. Here she's real, moving unnaturally fast.

"Mara."

I realize it's her that's speaking.

This girl, whoever she is, was the voice from before.

And she's speaking now but that's not the part I pay attention to; I pay attention to the tone of her voice that sets me continously backwards. This wasn't a gentle whisper or a quiet mutter, this was a demand.

There's an edge that takes over her voice, and I barely get my mouth open before I realize my next mistake: I didn't keep my eyes open.

I blinked.

And then I'm frozen in my spot, a gasp lodged in my throat. The girl is right in front of me, our faces mere inches away.

No, this can't be happening. No, this can't be real.

Her hulless eyes match the intensity of the black lightening that excites the storm.

She's going to kill me.

This is impossible. Reason alone isn't enough to stop the fear from spreading like a wildfire, a white cold feeling rattling against my chest.

She calls again, and I shut my eyes as tightly as possible-

"Mara!"



AUTHORS NOTE - am i the only one who sees tyler hoechlin's 'superman' fits best in the dark knight franchise? basically, i knew i wanted a superman to be in this universe, apart from henry cavills in the snyderverse, and i love the cw show superman and lois and i thought he was a great fit!

anyways, i hope you liked the chapter and im going to try to get another one or two up before the new year! and once again, thanks to all you guys who keep sticking with me, i appreciate it more than you know!! <333

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