Longer Writes

Pack Sick

Superman didn't care for the Justice League. There was a visible chill to the giant beta, a coldness that made Hal shiver, despite his galaxy-grade suit. The man's eyes seemed to slide past the rest of the League, catching only now and again on the strangest things: Grey tails and flashes of gold, red hair and earrings, things like that. His wings were always tightly crushed to his back, his ears politely neutral, and he never seemed to stay around long enough for anyone to see them otherwise moved.

He cooked, surprisingly, made meals that were always enough for twenty metas-or, eight plus Flash- but never stayed long enough to eat with the others, choosing to take his portion and disappear far into the Watchtower bowels. Loneliness quietly trailed the man wherever he went, though he never once made an attempt to hang around more than needed and bond with the rest of the team. It was like watching a ghost try and interact with the living as if they were still there, and it was kind of painful.

Empty halls made up the majority of the Watchtower, as they had yet to hire staff or really anybody besides the ten that were already here, and really it was more three at the moment, everybody else had cities of their own. Hal technically had Coast, but it was a little small for the Guardians orders of protecting the whole sector. Superman though, he really had no excuse for being up here in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

He was leaning against a railing, staring out into the overfull abyss of space, dark wings brushing the ground. One ear flickered towards Hal, but that was about all the acknowledgement he got- if anything, the man sunk lower as Hal closed in. Misery rolled off Superman in waves, twined with guilt and regret in a sour mixture that would probably stick in the ventilation for god knows how long.

Hal pulled to a stop next to him, elbows settling precariously on the top rail and puffy tail curling back and forth.

"Seein' anything interesting?"

"Mm." Supes hummed noncommittally, head tilted away from the Lantern.

"Yeah, gets old after a bit. Whole lot of rocks and space trash as far as the eye can see."

"Gets better." He mumbled. "The trash, at least."

"Further out, maybe, but you gotta go far. Saw a spinning manhole cover way past Pluto the other week." Hal chuckled, mostly to himself.

"Mm-mh." Superman shook his head. "Trash around here. People eventually decide to clean it all up. Eventually."

"We addin' future sight to your list of powers, Supes?" Hal snorted, but all the beta did was sit up a little and look over at him. Eyes like clear skies and hope were full up with memories of another time, somewhere far removed from here, and Hal may be an idiot, but he could still connect the dots. "You're not from this time, are you?"

"No, I am." He puffed out a breath through his nose, a short, bitter sound. "S'the rest of my pack that's not."

"Oh, wow, m'sorry man. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, Green, really. I've made my peace with it." He thumbed absently at his right middle finger for a moment, then stilled the movement with a clenched fist. Hal had fiddled enough with his own ring to recognize the fidget.

"You being honest with yourself, or are you just saying that so I can leave you alone to mope again?"

"I'm not-" Hal leveled Supes with a disbelieving look, and the beta's ears drooped, easily cowed. "-I am. Why in the hell are you good at this?"

"Kilowog dads at us constantly, figure I'd  pick up something out of it." He shrugged, grinning at the bat's eye roll. "So, how far out you get stuck?"

"'Bout a thousand years, give or take."

"Fuck."

"Pretty much."
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