shattered souls won't mend themselves (supercorp au)

night terrors

coauthor: infinity_in_his_eyes

//Kara POV//

I always had a good life.

For as long as I could remember, my family was there for me.  And it didn't matter what anyone said to me, they were my real family.  It didn't matter to me a single bit that I was adopted at the age of four.  It mattered to me what happened after that.  Eliza and Jeremiah, my mom and dad, made sure of that.  They promised me a better life, that I wouldn't feel the pain that I felt prior to becoming a part of the Danvers' family.  Truthfully, I never remembered the so called "pain" before. Mom and dad were honest with me.  They told me the stories.  The events that led to my adoption.  I didn't care.  Not only did I not remember, I didn't want to remember.

The memories I wanted, the memories I made, were the ones crafted by all the moments that I had spent with the Danvers.   My family.  I was four and even though my parents told me I had had it rough, I didn't let it phase me, because I had never felt anything but acceptance.  It was wonderful.  I belonged.

One of my favorite memories is one of my sister, Alex. She was 2 years older than me. She never treated me like I was different. She never looked at me with pity, only understanding and love. It always struck me with wonder and curiosity alike. She was one of bravest people that I had known, but also one of the most worrisome.  The duality of some aspects. Alex worried that she wasn't enough.  She worried that she was a disappointment.  I remember the night that she walked through the door, observing our parents and I warily, and we didn't know why until we noticed that she had brought someone along with her.  A girl.

"Mom, dad, Kara.  This is Maggie."

She didn't have to say anything.  We knew.  And we understood.  We accepted.  I couldn't figure out why Alex would think that we would have done anything differently.  I still don't know why she was so scared, why she thought we wouldn't look at her the same.  What I do remember, though, is the look of pure joy on her face when she realized that she was still the same Alex to us.  A full smile.  Her lips on Maggie's lips. 

It was my favorite memory.  I'm not sure why, but all I know is that I hold it closest to my heart.  My memories are the only things that I had before that are with me in this new chapter in my life.

A chapter that I have yet to come to terms to.

I have nightmares.  I'm 15 years old, and I wake up in this unfamiliar bed, in this unfamiliar room, shivering in a cold sweat, despite the fact that roaring flames light up my night terrors.  It was so unexpected.  It was terrifying.  I don't want to remember it, and I have resorted to not sleeping much at all in order to escape the tragedy that plays on an infinite loop in my sleep.

In my nightmares, I'm getting off of my bus.  Alex is usually with me, but today, she's home sick with a nasty cough.  My mom was home tending to Alex, and my dad had the day off.  I thank the bus driver and step onto the gravel.  I was hungry, my stomach growling.  I knew we had leftover pot stickers in the fridge.  I was tempted to run, but my backpack was heavy, and I decided that it wasn't really worth it.

I wish I had run.  Maybe something would have been different.  Maybe I would be with my family then.

In my nightmares, I take no more than two steps before I see the first flame go up.  The first flame is all the time my eyes have to register before the next flame goes, and the one after that, until my house isn't just flames anymore.  No, it's a fiery explosion and smoke and shattered glass and splintered wood and it's flying in my direction and all I can do is fall to the ground and cover my head, but it's probably more than what the rest of my family could do for themselves.  In my nightmares, nothing remains of my house.  In my nightmares, nothing remains of my family.

But my nightmares are my reality.

I don't sleep anymore, because I don't want to face reality.  It's almost like a life sentence (and this home is my jail).  I'm awake, and I can't escape what happened.  I'm asleep, and I still can't escape what happened.

There's nobody in this place.  Nothing is home anymore.  I'm not in National City anymore.  I'm in Detroit, in a rundown foster care home, with nothing and no one to call mine.

I've never felt more alone.