I lied. Big Damn List has more Prodigal Son.
Title: A Better World
Fandom: Green Lantern Corps
Characters: Kyle Rayner, Soranik Natu, Alex Nero
Prompt: 022 - ENEMIES
Word Count: 1650
Rating: PG
Summary: In the wake of Final Crisis, Kyle and Ion do not get along.
Author's Notes: Fourth part of the Prodigal Son storyline, in which Hal Jordan was not resurrected. Other stories can be found on this page.
In a better world, he might have gone back to Earth. He might have had time to adjust to Ion scraping the inside of his skin - it wasn’t alive, or he didn’t think it was and no one had told him otherwise - without the stares and whispers of the rest of the Corps.
“There is no better world, Kyle,” he muttered to himself. The incessant rain driving down splashed under his constructed umbrella as the wind blew, spattering his sketchbook. It never stopped raining in this particular little patch of jungle, but rain and cold and nasty things with very large teeth meant that it was not a particularly popular destination. Sometimes he just wanted to be alone.
Sometimes Kyle was convinced that everything he’d done since getting the ring had led to one disaster after another, but the point at which everything had really gone wrong was Terry. His assistant’s near death at the hands of some hate-mongering assholes had come hard on the heels of a three-thousand year deathmatch against an Atlantean zombie queen, and Kyle hadn’t been able to take it. He’d gone to visit the Guardians - still children, even then - and taken Jade with him. Then she’d gone home, and he’d stayed, and stayed, and then he hadn’t had a home on Earth any more.
Again, Kyle had gone to the farthest reaches of the known universe, searching for something the Guardians hadn’t been able to explain, and he’d found it. He’d found Parallax, and he’d found what remained of Hal Jordan, and it hadn’t made any difference. Hal Jordan was still dead, Parallax was still free, and nobody believed that the once greatest Green Lantern hadn’t just gone batshit crazy. The Guardians had reinstated the Corps, recruitment going into overdrive, and he’d been caught up in the middle of it. Then there was the small matter of the zombie in the basement; keeping Hal’s body had seemed harmless - someone to talk to, someone who didn’t judge him for what he’d done wrong - until it had stood up and tried to eat him. In the midst of all that, there had been not one but two major crises and now he had an alien power trying to eat him alive from inside his own skin.
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Kyle nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard anyone coming, and his ring hadn’t warned him of an approach. The figure that ducked under his umbrella was familiar. “Soranik Natu,” he said.
“Kyle Rayner,” she returned with a half-smile. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Uh, you too.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and just watched her in silence.
“Oh, there are some herbs here that -“ she broke off. “What are you doing here?”
“Drawing.” It wasn’t quite a lie; he sketched the same things over and over. Hal Jordan, rising from the grave. Hal Jordan, defeating Parallax. Hal Jordan, welcoming him to the new Corps. Subtle variations in facial expression, posture, movement - nuances that he’d created for Hal until he was half-convinced that the mannerisms were real.
“Can I-“ Soranik asked, reaching for the book.
Reflexively, Kyle pulled it away. “Sorry,” he muttered, not ungraciously, but he wasn’t about to show it to her. He closed it, stowing it in the small bag he’d brought. This wasn’t a safe place any more, and he made a brief farewell before leaving as fast as the ring could take him.
Once away from the atmosphere, he slowed down. There was nowhere he was in any hurry to be, not today. The sector was quiet, and there were no warnings through Ion from the Central Battery for anywhere else. He drifted toward the sun, keeping it between him and the little planetoid, watching its tumultuous heat.
A flash out of the corner of his eye brought an instinctive dodge, and he barely managed to escape having his brains spattered through the void. A woman in red and silver hung in front of him, expertly channeling the momentum of her blow into stability. Small tanks attached to her back and the airtight suit told him that she wasn’t invulnerable, no matter how well she handled zero gravity.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
“The luckiest woman in the universe,” she said. “I’m the one that found you.”
“What are you talking about?” She swung and he dodged again, although it would have been so easy to rip her suit or toss her into the sun, or even just fly away.
“There’s a price on your head, pretty boy,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”
“A price?” That was surprising enough that she almost hit him with her third blow, but he caught her weapon in a construct glove. “For what?”
“Don’t play dumb. The entire galaxy knows what you did, and you’re going down for it.” She smirked behind her helmet, and sharp teeth showed at the edges of her smile.
“What did I do?” He didn’t realize he’d grabbed her by the shoulders until she squeaked, and then the words poured out of her. A fleet destroyed, star systems ravaged. He let go, hands shaking. He hadn’t noticed any missing time and the Guardians had been watching him besides. What the bounty hunter was trying to tell him was completely absurd.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said when she finished, and she stammered that it was true. He did leave her there at that, moving towards the remains of the fleet in question. The few survivors fled from him, despite his attempts to explain that he hadn’t been responsible, but a clear energy signature led away from the wreckage. It looked enough like his own that he wouldn’t have questioned it. “You’re not getting away from me.”
A swathe of destruction four sectors wide and a chase that felt simultaneously endless and abrupt put him face to face with himself.
“You,” said his other self, a grimace twisting his face. Stars spread outward from his eyes, his body dissolving into a skin of space.
Laughter bubbled up, pressing its way out of his throat, and he threw his head back to let it out. It poured across the void, loud and harsh, mocking in its lack of mirth. As suddenly as it started, he fell silent. “You’ve finally lost it, Kyle,” he told himself.
“This is your fault. Yours!” his other self said. “You did this to me!”
“Like I’m the only me here,” he retorted. “Take your fair share.” His other self only screamed and leapt towards him. Kyle blocked his own attack, the vocal outburst having given him plenty of warning. He couldn’t get in a solid strike, but neither could his other self; they were perfectly matched.
“This isn’t solving anything,” he said, after the third time they pulled apart for a breather.
“You’re the problem,” his other self said, but he remained still. His head cocked to the side and he stared at Kyle. “You. It was always you. All about you.”
“You say that like you’re not me,” Kyle said drily. “What’s mine is yours.”
“Liar!” shouted his other self, and his face twisted. It almost seemed to be melting for a moment, the hair brightening to red, before his face solidified, and Kyle realized that he hadn’t actually lost it, that he wasn’t completely insane and either hallucinating or constructing an avatar of himself.
“You’re not me,” he said wonderingly, and then the anger came. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“What’s you is me is you,” the man with his face told him.
“Identify subject,” Kyle muttered. He was too used to giving verbal instructions to the ring to be comfortable just doing certain things with Ion’s internal energies. The answer came back almost as an inner voice.
Subject is Alex Nero.
“What?” he said out loud, and Nero fled. Kyle chased him, across another two sectors, through an asteroid field and a twin star, into a hollow moon and a jungle-covered planet. He had Ion to draw on, and eventually Nero faltered. Kyle locked him into a construct and watched as Nero’s face emerged. “You,” he said again, for lack of anything else to say. “Why would you do that?”
“Not my fault, not mine,” Nero muttered, glaring up at him balefully. He shuddered at that, as if in pain. “They made me,” he whispered, and shuddered again. “They did this to me!”
“Who?” Kyle asked, leaning closer. “Who did it, Nero?”
“He… he…” Nero stiffened and then slumped sideways, eyes dull and blank. Kyle could all but hear his heart beating, but scanning his body produced two very disturbing results. There was almost no electrical activity in his brain; perhaps he could be helped, but everything Kyle remembered told him that Nero was very probably permanently brain damaged. The second finding made his hair stand up on edge; inside Nero was a tiny but potentially devastating explosive. He couldn’t figure out what the trigger was, but it couldn’t be safe to bring him near anything living.
“Dammit.” This was a problem he could solve; this was something he had come to know. Ion shifted in his skin again, sinking into it, and for the first time Kyle didn’t feel as if some parasite had lodged itself in his chest. “We’re going to get some answers, you and me.”
He would see justice done, although he couldn’t change what had happened. Avenging someone - anyone - was a poor second to saving them, but he would take the hand he’d been dealt and do what he could. In a better world, Nero wouldn’t have been violated like this, but there was no better world. He had to live in this one.
FINIS
Nalanzu's Little Damn Table
Fandom: Green Lantern Corps
Characters: Kyle Rayner, Soranik Natu, Alex Nero
Prompt: 022 - ENEMIES
Word Count: 1650
Rating: PG
Summary: In the wake of Final Crisis, Kyle and Ion do not get along.
Author's Notes: Fourth part of the Prodigal Son storyline, in which Hal Jordan was not resurrected. Other stories can be found on this page.
In a better world, he might have gone back to Earth. He might have had time to adjust to Ion scraping the inside of his skin - it wasn’t alive, or he didn’t think it was and no one had told him otherwise - without the stares and whispers of the rest of the Corps.
“There is no better world, Kyle,” he muttered to himself. The incessant rain driving down splashed under his constructed umbrella as the wind blew, spattering his sketchbook. It never stopped raining in this particular little patch of jungle, but rain and cold and nasty things with very large teeth meant that it was not a particularly popular destination. Sometimes he just wanted to be alone.
Sometimes Kyle was convinced that everything he’d done since getting the ring had led to one disaster after another, but the point at which everything had really gone wrong was Terry. His assistant’s near death at the hands of some hate-mongering assholes had come hard on the heels of a three-thousand year deathmatch against an Atlantean zombie queen, and Kyle hadn’t been able to take it. He’d gone to visit the Guardians - still children, even then - and taken Jade with him. Then she’d gone home, and he’d stayed, and stayed, and then he hadn’t had a home on Earth any more.
Again, Kyle had gone to the farthest reaches of the known universe, searching for something the Guardians hadn’t been able to explain, and he’d found it. He’d found Parallax, and he’d found what remained of Hal Jordan, and it hadn’t made any difference. Hal Jordan was still dead, Parallax was still free, and nobody believed that the once greatest Green Lantern hadn’t just gone batshit crazy. The Guardians had reinstated the Corps, recruitment going into overdrive, and he’d been caught up in the middle of it. Then there was the small matter of the zombie in the basement; keeping Hal’s body had seemed harmless - someone to talk to, someone who didn’t judge him for what he’d done wrong - until it had stood up and tried to eat him. In the midst of all that, there had been not one but two major crises and now he had an alien power trying to eat him alive from inside his own skin.
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Kyle nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard anyone coming, and his ring hadn’t warned him of an approach. The figure that ducked under his umbrella was familiar. “Soranik Natu,” he said.
“Kyle Rayner,” she returned with a half-smile. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Uh, you too.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and just watched her in silence.
“Oh, there are some herbs here that -“ she broke off. “What are you doing here?”
“Drawing.” It wasn’t quite a lie; he sketched the same things over and over. Hal Jordan, rising from the grave. Hal Jordan, defeating Parallax. Hal Jordan, welcoming him to the new Corps. Subtle variations in facial expression, posture, movement - nuances that he’d created for Hal until he was half-convinced that the mannerisms were real.
“Can I-“ Soranik asked, reaching for the book.
Reflexively, Kyle pulled it away. “Sorry,” he muttered, not ungraciously, but he wasn’t about to show it to her. He closed it, stowing it in the small bag he’d brought. This wasn’t a safe place any more, and he made a brief farewell before leaving as fast as the ring could take him.
Once away from the atmosphere, he slowed down. There was nowhere he was in any hurry to be, not today. The sector was quiet, and there were no warnings through Ion from the Central Battery for anywhere else. He drifted toward the sun, keeping it between him and the little planetoid, watching its tumultuous heat.
A flash out of the corner of his eye brought an instinctive dodge, and he barely managed to escape having his brains spattered through the void. A woman in red and silver hung in front of him, expertly channeling the momentum of her blow into stability. Small tanks attached to her back and the airtight suit told him that she wasn’t invulnerable, no matter how well she handled zero gravity.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
“The luckiest woman in the universe,” she said. “I’m the one that found you.”
“What are you talking about?” She swung and he dodged again, although it would have been so easy to rip her suit or toss her into the sun, or even just fly away.
“There’s a price on your head, pretty boy,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”
“A price?” That was surprising enough that she almost hit him with her third blow, but he caught her weapon in a construct glove. “For what?”
“Don’t play dumb. The entire galaxy knows what you did, and you’re going down for it.” She smirked behind her helmet, and sharp teeth showed at the edges of her smile.
“What did I do?” He didn’t realize he’d grabbed her by the shoulders until she squeaked, and then the words poured out of her. A fleet destroyed, star systems ravaged. He let go, hands shaking. He hadn’t noticed any missing time and the Guardians had been watching him besides. What the bounty hunter was trying to tell him was completely absurd.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said when she finished, and she stammered that it was true. He did leave her there at that, moving towards the remains of the fleet in question. The few survivors fled from him, despite his attempts to explain that he hadn’t been responsible, but a clear energy signature led away from the wreckage. It looked enough like his own that he wouldn’t have questioned it. “You’re not getting away from me.”
A swathe of destruction four sectors wide and a chase that felt simultaneously endless and abrupt put him face to face with himself.
“You,” said his other self, a grimace twisting his face. Stars spread outward from his eyes, his body dissolving into a skin of space.
Laughter bubbled up, pressing its way out of his throat, and he threw his head back to let it out. It poured across the void, loud and harsh, mocking in its lack of mirth. As suddenly as it started, he fell silent. “You’ve finally lost it, Kyle,” he told himself.
“This is your fault. Yours!” his other self said. “You did this to me!”
“Like I’m the only me here,” he retorted. “Take your fair share.” His other self only screamed and leapt towards him. Kyle blocked his own attack, the vocal outburst having given him plenty of warning. He couldn’t get in a solid strike, but neither could his other self; they were perfectly matched.
“This isn’t solving anything,” he said, after the third time they pulled apart for a breather.
“You’re the problem,” his other self said, but he remained still. His head cocked to the side and he stared at Kyle. “You. It was always you. All about you.”
“You say that like you’re not me,” Kyle said drily. “What’s mine is yours.”
“Liar!” shouted his other self, and his face twisted. It almost seemed to be melting for a moment, the hair brightening to red, before his face solidified, and Kyle realized that he hadn’t actually lost it, that he wasn’t completely insane and either hallucinating or constructing an avatar of himself.
“You’re not me,” he said wonderingly, and then the anger came. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“What’s you is me is you,” the man with his face told him.
“Identify subject,” Kyle muttered. He was too used to giving verbal instructions to the ring to be comfortable just doing certain things with Ion’s internal energies. The answer came back almost as an inner voice.
Subject is Alex Nero.
“What?” he said out loud, and Nero fled. Kyle chased him, across another two sectors, through an asteroid field and a twin star, into a hollow moon and a jungle-covered planet. He had Ion to draw on, and eventually Nero faltered. Kyle locked him into a construct and watched as Nero’s face emerged. “You,” he said again, for lack of anything else to say. “Why would you do that?”
“Not my fault, not mine,” Nero muttered, glaring up at him balefully. He shuddered at that, as if in pain. “They made me,” he whispered, and shuddered again. “They did this to me!”
“Who?” Kyle asked, leaning closer. “Who did it, Nero?”
“He… he…” Nero stiffened and then slumped sideways, eyes dull and blank. Kyle could all but hear his heart beating, but scanning his body produced two very disturbing results. There was almost no electrical activity in his brain; perhaps he could be helped, but everything Kyle remembered told him that Nero was very probably permanently brain damaged. The second finding made his hair stand up on edge; inside Nero was a tiny but potentially devastating explosive. He couldn’t figure out what the trigger was, but it couldn’t be safe to bring him near anything living.
“Dammit.” This was a problem he could solve; this was something he had come to know. Ion shifted in his skin again, sinking into it, and for the first time Kyle didn’t feel as if some parasite had lodged itself in his chest. “We’re going to get some answers, you and me.”
He would see justice done, although he couldn’t change what had happened. Avenging someone - anyone - was a poor second to saving them, but he would take the hand he’d been dealt and do what he could. In a better world, Nero wouldn’t have been violated like this, but there was no better world. He had to live in this one.
FINIS
Nalanzu's Little Damn Table