Dedicated to a dear, dear friend whom I'M SO SORRY I NEVER REPLIED TO YOUR MESSAGES BECAUSE I WAS ACTING LIKE AND BEING A TOTAL MORONIC AND IDIOTIC AND LAZY SWINE! I'M SO SORRY!

Her name is catgirld86. :) Check out her stories! She also writes DC, and is in my favorites. :D

Disclaimer: Don't own DC! Otherwise . . . it would be done by now. Seriously. (I love it, but it's waaay too long.)

It Will Shine

The darkness was blinding him.

The screams, the gunshots in the air, the tires screeching, were all deafening in his ears. The ringing echoed, the crescendo rising until it was so loud, there was no sound at all. Nothing. He could feel nothing.

And then the ringing continued.

Black figures, they were everywhere. Sirens wailed in the night, blue and red light bouncing off the grey walls that enclosed him, people yelling commands for others to hurry, hurry, there were injured citizens here. He opened his eyes a little, just a little, so he could try and see.

His gaze lifted to where the ringing was coming from.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw blood, so much of them. He saw a pale hand, weak, its arm attached to a shoulder which was attached to a girl whose strawberry-blonde hair was stained with crimson. He saw a big belly, a belly that was shot, that belonged to a man, a scientist, his mentor. He saw children, huddled together, unhurt but not unscarred, shaking and trembling together against a corner with their arms tightly around each other, seeking comfort.

He saw a girl with long brown hair, with dim blue eyes, with bloody fingers, reaching out unconsciously for him.

He heard the ringing grow louder.

The aftermath was so cruel and gruesome, he could barely keep his eyes open. He'd seen blood, of course, a lot of them, and yet this would be the only time that would leave him with nightmares and would leave him screaming as he slept. If he could sleep, of course, without his heart stopping. If his heart stopped, what would be of the others that he grew to care so well? Where would he go to protect them again? Oh wait, no, backtrack. He laughed. There was no more protecting needed after this, right?

There was . . . no more need to lie to her, fake for her, or make her cry . . . right?

The ringing . . . that ringing . . . what was it? Stop!

He cringed and closed his eyes, and felt the scars marring his body sting and hurt and send searing pain throughout his brain, forcing a small cry to tear out from his chapped lips as he rolled to his stomach. He lifted his gaze again, searching for the source of the ringing, searching for a line to grasp and to hold on to for his dear life. Or whatever was left of it, anyway. He couldn't get up, couldn't get his hands and arms to support him or listen to any commands.

And then the hand that was reaching out for him, thin, pale, shaking, hooked its finger around the little beating heart that was on his sleeve, and he slowly maneuvered along with it. He moved, finally reaching out his own hand, and followed it.

His name. That ringing . . . was his name.

Her barely-opened eyes fluttered and focused solely on him as he dragged his body towards her, aching to fulfill the need that was long held back, that ordered him to be with her, stay with her. 'Even if I die,' he had said to her, 'I'll find a way back to you.' And he would; he would never break that promise again. The tears in her eyes shattered his bleeding heart once more, but his bleeding hands with do whatever they take to piece it back together, so he can present it to her, imperfect but whole. That was the last thing he could do after having them both wait for so long.

Someone's calling out for him. Someone was there, calling out his name with a voice that sounded like Christmas bells.

He would do whatever it took to be with her, even at his last moment. He took her hand and they shared a rueful smile.

She was calling out for him. And, without even controlling himself, he called out for her too.

The light was blinding him.