Note: Inspired by an amazing Supergirl sun suit design and the concept of Kara as a sort of sun deity, by plastic-pipes on tumblr. Go take a look! It's so fucking good.
Warning for mentions of child endangerment, attempted rape, Nazism, capitalism, injury, illness, attempted self harm. All very very brief (except a description of an injury next chapter that's slightly less brief, so heads up if that bothers you). All but the last are within the context of Kara's various heroic acts.
This is part 1 of 2. Next and final part will be posted tomorrow. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Kara is dreaming of space. It happens sometimes. Occasionally it's wonderful. Often, it's emotionally devastating. She can't tell yet which kind this dream will prove to be.
She feels surprisingly clearheaded; it feels almost like a lucid dream, except she has no control over it. She looks down at herself. She's wearing a suit reminiscent of her Supergirl uniform, except it's a little different: it covers her legs down to the ankles, there is no skirt, and the fabric shines with a thousand tiny dots of starlight. She's barefoot.
The space in which she's floating in the dream seems to be obeying the regular laws of physics; there's no friction, and she can't move forward or even turn herself around. She tears a piece off her long, flowing cape and throws it at an angle, so that she floats backward slowly and on an axis. As she's leisurely turned by the momentum to face the space previously outside her field of vision, she sees it: the reason she's here in this dream, she's certain. An enormous, burning red sun.
The laws of physics abruptly cease to apply; she freezes in place facing the star, her feet finding inexplicable purchase in the void.
"Kara of the house of El," the star—says? Communicates? Vibrates? That doesn't seem accurate; it doesn't move at all, there is no sound, just the memory afterward of words being spoken, echoed in Kara's mind with the vague familiar voice of her more concrete thoughts. "We have summoned you for the purpose of a gift. You have been deemed worthy. Our power is offered freely. Will you accept?"
But Kara is already powerful. More powerful sometimes than she's comfortable with, certainly more than she feels entitled to. Despite that her chest feels expanded with awe, that her body is shaking so deeply the friction of her bare feet could have coaxed sparks from the ground, if she weren't floating in frictionless space; despite that she's having a conversation with her very God, their offer doesn't appear that tempting.
"We appeal to your responsibility instead," Kara suddenly remember the star saying. She feels as if she's missing something, but a she recalls more it doesn't seem important. "We offer tools of protection. We offer means of prevention. We offer power fit only for she who does not seek it. We ask humbly, Kara of Danvers and El, that you accept."
Kara feels struck to her core; in this moment, she's unnervingly helpless and unimaginably powerful. She has no choice, of course. She accepts.
Rao pulses, flares, and dims, and Kara Danvers inherits divinity.
.
.
.
Opening her eyes in the aftermath is logically unnecessary; Kara can see well enough without them now. She does it anyway, though. Her body seems to find it comforting.
This is what she sees: Her sister, Alex, though she's forgotten the meaning of sisterhood. Her friend, Winn, though friendship seems meaningless in the face of her overwhelming love for all things living and dead and shifting and still. And her superior, J'onn, though she's no longer bound by any command other than that of her own purpose.
She remembers their faces, but the constellations of muscles within them seem suddenly incomprehensible. Calmly she notes the way her heart contracts more frequently at Alex's sudden touch to her cheek.
Alex is crying. Kara's forgotten what that signifies also. "Kara," Alex says, her voice unsteady. "We thought we'd lost you."
"I'm here," Kara tells her, and Alex nods and cries more loudly.
"Good to have you back, Supergirl," J'onn says, smiling in a very familiar way. Still, Kara can't decode it.
She reaches up a hand to touch J'onn's cheek the way Alex is touching hers. They breathe together for a moment.
Kara sits up. Alex makes a noise and attempts to push her back down. She must be misinterpreting the situation. "Alex, I must go now," Kara explains, turning to look at her.
"Oh, you're not going anywhere until we figure out exactly what happened and how to prevent it from repeating, Kara. Your eyes are still glowing! You were in a fucking coma!"
Kara removes Alex's hands from her shoulders. "That is unnecessary," she says, climbs off the cot and turns to go. She briefly pats Alex's cheek as she goes. Despite her explanation, all three of them follow her.
"Kara, you're still disoriented. I'd recommend you listen to your sister," says J'onn.
"Your eyes look really scary. Cool, but scary. Also, yeah, what he said," says Winn.
"Kara! Get the fuck back in bed!" says Alex.
Kara doesn't turn to look at them. It would be pointless. She seems unable to glean anything from their expressions, and she doesn't need to face them to see. And she doesn't want to encourage further conversation. "No," she says, and wipes herself out of the room.
.
.
The Earth is doing badly. Its atmosphere is tattered, its oceans poisoned, its lands unbalanced. Humanity is doing badly too. Her only point of comparison is her childhood memory of her home, memory which has likely been retreaded and polished to the point of complete corruption. Still, she feels humanity's pain, and she refuses to believe this state is natural or irrevocable.
Finally, she can help. It's all she's here to do.
Kara collects her particles and reassembles them in the street. She strains her senses to find any hint of trouble.
An infant is having trouble breathing. Their body temperature is rising. Kara breathes their air; it's thin and stagnant. A confined space.
She's there and tearing the door clear off the car before she has time to remember her subtler powers. The heavy door clatters loudly on the pavement as Kara reaches in and pulls the infant into her arms. They aren't crying, and for once, Kara is sure it isn't a good sign. She presses them against her body, siphons the heat out of them, letting it disperse more quickly in the air. She breathes deep, in, out, directing the baby's lungs along with hers.
They start wailing loudly. Kara feels relief flood her body like a torrent of cool water.
She finds their guardian in an office building, working at a computer. When they see the baby, they spring out of their chair, pushing it away so hard it flips over and clatters to the ground.
"Oh, no, no no no—" the parent chants, tears already dribbling from their eyes. "I forgot—I meant to bring him to daycare, I—"
Kara hands them the baby. They hold him carefully, running their hand over his head over and over.
"His breathing is back to normal, but take him to the hospital to make sure," Kara orders. "Make use of better precautions from now on."
Her only response is louder sobbing.
.
Kara hears a protest, a yelp, a shushing, a muted struggle. Two teenagers in a dorm room.
She doesn't place herself inside. She doesn't think the one who yelped would want to be seen. She shifts herself to the Fortress of Solitude instead, and appears the other human beside her. The one who shushed.
They are the ones to yelp, this time.
"What the fuck, what the fuck?" they babble. "What is this, where am I?"
They start shivering violently. This place is too cold for them. Kara feels their pain, but she feels almost happy for it.
She allows herself to lift up to float, looming above the human. A bit of ice sticks to her bare feet; it breaks free after a moment and tumbles down to the ground with a faint click.
The human turns around. She looks in their eyes, and they look in hers. And cowers.
Kara stares at them a while longer, unblinking. "You will never touch another uninvited," Kara tells them at length, her voice reverberating in the ice lined space. "You will never presume to take what isn't freely offered again."
They nod, again and again. "Yes! I mean, no! Never!"
She sends them to a station two cities over from their campus. Fabricating expulsion paperwork for them is trivial. She reroutes their tuition to a local shelter for good measure.
One last thing, she remembers. She materializes herself in front of the other student's door. She can see them clearly through it, a tight, blinking bundle on the bed. She averts her gaze. A group of students is eating Chinese food in another room. Kara ignores the way her stomach clenches.
She knocks on the door. Waits. No answer. The human doesn't shift. Maybe it isn't a god that's needed now.
Kara searches her mind for all the relevant resources in the state. She writes down the numbers, labeled properly, and adds her own. She slips the note under the door.
.
A human in a suit is holding a spray paint bottle, standing in front of a building wall. They've already drawn three thick lines, two short and one longer between them, at right angles of each other. This requires Kara's direct intervention, she thinks. She's unwilling to let them finish.
She materializes directly in front of them. They almost sprayed over her, but she easily slips the bottle out of their grasp, lifting it into the air and crumpling it into a perfect, smooth metallic circle in front of their eyes, without lifting her hands from her sides. The human stumbles back a step. Kara pursues.
"You—you're Supergirl, aren't you?" the human says. "You wouldn't hurt me."
Their voice wobbles. They take another hurried step back, nearly lose their footing for a moment. Kara follows.
"I didn't do shit," the human says. Their words are cutting into each other now. "Just a bunch of lines. The real threat to civilized society—"
Kara takes a breath, and feels herself lifting with it. The human has to crane their neck to look up at her now. She reaches a hand toward them. They flinch. "I love every living being on this planet," she says evenly. "Every breathing thing, I breathe along with them. But you." She stares at them. Their breathing quickens. "You are worse than scum. Hold out your hand."
They do. It's shaking minutely.
Kara picks up the small shiny ball that was once the paint can. She places it in the human's palm. She can clearly see the sweat trickling down their back.
"Do better," she commands.
The human gulps, and turns, and runs. They don't let go of the metal ball, however.
.
She looks for people in need of help. Looks for people who need to be stopped. She finds them. She does her best to correct the situation.
At nightfall she goes to the other side of the world, where the sunlight is good and bright, and does the same.
.
.
Kara can't get tired, not as she is now, but as the days grind into each other, day upon day with no night, she can't deny feeling a sort of… strain. In a state of near numbness, a certain name slips into her mind.
.
.
Kara materializes in Lena Luthor's office at the top of L-Corp headquarters. Why is she here? Strange. She can't think of a reason.
"Lena," she says. The name gives her pleasure to say. She doesn't know why.
Lena's head snaps up at that. Inscrutable expressions flit across her face, settling finally on a frown. "Supergirl! Your eyes are glowing. Are you all right?"
"I'm well," Kara tells her. "I'm not sure why I'm here."
Lena gets up from her chair and rushes towards Kara, bumping into her desk in her haste. "You don't sound fine," she says. "Confusion is never a good sign. Does it hurt anywhere? Have you experienced any memory loss? How many fingers am I holding up? What's the square root of 676?"
"No, no, four, twenty six," Kara responds calmly. Why is she engaging? This seems wasteful of her time.
Lena has reached her, and is grasping her arm, pressing her fingers to the pulse in her wrist. She counts quietly under her breath. "Seems normal," Lena mutters.
"I'm very healthy," Kara points out. Lena glances up at her from beneath her eyelashes. Kara's body… prickles. She reaches out a hand and presses it to Lena's cheek.
Lena's inhale makes a sharp noise. She closes her eyes for 2.47 seconds. "Kara, are you really all right?" she asks again.
"Yes," Kara confirms. Somehow, she doesn't mind the redundancy.
Lena places her hand atop Kara's on her cheek. Kara hears both their heart rates increase.
"Lena," Kara says, "what are you to me?"
Lena's heartbeat stutters. "I—what do you mean?"
"I'm not sure how to make sense of my memory of you," Kara tries to explain.
"You—you said there was no memory loss?"
"I remember," Kara says. "I just don't understand."
"Kara, what—what happened?"
"I absorbed my sun," Kara tells her. "I became a god."
Lena takes another audible breath and abruptly moves away, removing Kara's hand from her face. "Does—does Alex know?" Lena asks. Her voice sounds different.
Kara shakes her head. "I haven't taken the time to explain to her."
"She'll be devastated," Lena mutters quietly.
"I don't want to hurt her," Kara says. Her body physically recoils at the thought.
"Kara—it's still you, isn't it?" Lena says, frowning up at her. "You still love her."
Love her. You love this world so very intensely, love all of its people. What does it mean to love one above the others? Mere selfishness.
And yet, it feels true. "Yes," Kara confesses. She isn't interested in lying.
Lena nods to herself. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." She doesn't seem to be talking to Kara. "Kara, I want to help you. Sit with me. I'll answer your questions."
Kara sits. "Who are you to me?" she asks again. "I feel drawn to you."
Lena sits next to her. Very close. Their knees are touching. "You're my—my friend. My family. You're very dear to me, Kara," Lena says. "The most important person in my life." Tears are gathered in Lena's eyes by the end of the sentence. Kara reaches out to coax one onto her finger.
"What does it mean when you cry?" she asks.
Lena blinks; the tears fall. "It means… I feel very strongly. Sadness, or happiness, or relief, or other things sometimes."
"What are you feeling now?"
"Oh," Lena sobs. It takes her 4.8 seconds to continue. "I'm scared of losing you," she says, quiet. "I'm sad that you've changed. I'm grateful that you're here. I… I care very much for you."
Lara presses her palm once more to Lena's now damp cheek. Lena closes her eyes.
A person calls for Supergirl in the distance.
"I must go," Kara says. "I feel reluctant to leave," she admits.
"It's okay." Lena smiles at her crookedly. Kara doesn't ask what that means. It feels like an inappropriate time. "Please, come back?"
"I will." It's a foolish promise to make. But she can't seem to help herself.
.
.
Done with snatching people out of immediate danger, Kara turns her attention to small acts of disaster and war relief. She rebuilds torn buildings, fixes damaged power lines, decontaminates water supplies. Lifts refugees fleeing in precarious inflatable life rafts out of the oceans and places them safely on land. Sneaks the ill and injured and pregnant and desperate past borders patrols and escorts them to organizations that can help.
People need oxygen, warmth, food and water. Kara can often provide these things, but more importantly, there are already systems in place equipped to do the same. A lot of this work is simple logistics. Getting people from one place to another. Connecting organizations with those in need. Allocating resources from place to place.
Kara spends days lost in these processes. Her mind wanders, unsolicited, to… more personal things.
.
.
The next time Alex calls, Kara answers.
She'll be devastated, Lena's voice echoes in Kara's head. For all that she enjoys that voice, she doesn't enjoy those words. But she is a god. So she ignores her displeasure, and answers the phone, and explains everything.
Alex is silent for thirty eight seconds. The time stretches between them, insignificant in the scheme of things.
"Kara," Alex says finally, voice measured and precise. "Come back home."
"Alex," Kara mirrors. "A home is redundant. I don't need sustenance or rest or recreation. I don't need a home. You should give it away to someone who could benefit from it."
Kara can hear that Alex has begun crying. She remembers the explanation Lena had given her, but it is little help at the moment. Crying, according to Lena, who understands these things, can denote any number of emotions, and Kara doesn't know which one.
"I get that, Kara, I understand," Alex is saying, her voice changed by her tears. "But we need you."
Kara nods to herself. "Your whole world needs me."
"Kara… I don't need you as a protector, or a savior, or a god damn messiah. I need you as a sister."
Kara frowns. "I don't remember what that means," she admits.
"Okay," Alex says, and the sounds of crying abruptly stop. Alex takes a loud breath. "That's okay. I can help you remember. You can learn all over again. We can fix this. Will you let me try?"
Kara has a world to watch over. Every moment, a thousand people are hurt. Every breath she takes, someone else takes their last. Every second of inactivity is inexcusable in the face of her planet's suffering.
"Yes," she finds herself saying anyway.
.
.
Kara agrees to perform one Alex mandated personal activity per week. ("Even the Jewish god took one day to rest, Kara," was Alex's argument. "You have no excuse.")
The first assignment Alex gives her is to go to Catco.
Kara places herself inside an empty elevator and walks the rest of the way to her floor, as a courtesy. She wouldn't want to scare anyone by appearing out of thin air in the middle of her workplace. Well. Her former workplace. Deities have no need for daytime jobs.
"Wow, Supergirl, I like the costume change," a warm voice greets her.
James. She turns to face him. She wants to touch his cheek, as she did with the others, but he is too tall. She floats up to eye level and does it then.
James smiles at her. It makes her feel warm. "Hey," he says. "Your eyes are glowing." Everyone seems to want to comment on the eyes.
"Yes," she agrees.
"Alex told me about what happened. As far as she understands it, at least."
Kara nods. That's good. She doesn't want to confuse James. And, for some reason, she feels like she'd like to avoid more crying.
"How are you feeling?" James asks her.
"I feel well. Healthy and strong." The repetition chafes. She wants to move on.
"I didn't mean physically," he says, his voice softer now. It feels gentle on Kara's ears. "How are you really feeling, Kara?"
Kara takes a moment to consider the question seriously. She feels whole, in a way she hadn't since she was—home. But she feels lacking as well, splintered among billions of lives and empty of something substantial that used to inhabit her. And she hurts for every hurting thing and soars for every joyous thing; and she feels ten times as much as that for all these people, this family of hers she seems to remember only incompletely.
"I feel conflicted," Kara tells him. "And wishful. And terrified."
James places his hands on her shoulders, and draws her, still airborne, into a hug. "You've always taken on more responsibility than anyone should bear," he says over her shoulder. "But we're here for you, always. That hasn't changed. Even if you are a literal goddess now."
He laughs. Kara makes a note to ask Lena its meaning later.
James holds her for a while longer. Afterwards, Kara remembers this: hugging is something she really, really likes.
.
.
Alex takes her to Noonan's. Kara dutifully drinks some coffee and eats pastries, even though she requires neither the sustenance nor the caffeine; she has a sun burning within her. Alex watches her closely for several moments.
"What are you doing?" Kara asks her.
"Waiting to see the moment the sugar hits," Alex answers, eyes still trained intently on Kara.
Kara has a sudden, strange urge to roll her eyes. For some reason, that same moment, Alex bounces in her seat and cheers loudly.
The next week, Alex brings Kara pizza and potstickers. Kara chews and swallows everything she's handed without protest. The experiment will likely end more quickly that way.
"Well? What do you think?" Alex prods.
"The flavors and textures blend together pleasantly. I could name every ingredient, if you'd like." She pauses, reaching for another potsticker and biting into it as if compelled by some outside force. "I like these," she admits.
Alex makes a very particular face. Kara has no idea what it is, though.
The week after that, Alex takes her to a lecture about the importance of journalistic integrity and freedom of the press in modern times. Kara pretends to listen intently as she scans the building and the streets beyond for imminent destruction. By some uncanny instinct, Alex catches her.
"Kara! You're not even paying attention!" Alex whispers loudly at her.
"I am divine," Kara informs her. "I can listen to more than one droning voice at a time."
Alex looks at her for a moment, then smiles, and leaves her alone for the rest of the lecture.
The next week, Alex doesn't send Kara anywhere in particular. She simply meets up with her in the street.
"Okay. There's one other place I think we should try," Alex says, but she pauses, and doesn't go on.
"What is it?" Kara prompts.
Alex takes a breath. "It's… L-Corp. I think… I think you should talk to Lena Luthor."
"I have already done that," Kara informs her evenly.
Alex raises her eyebrows. "Oh! You have?" she says. "When?"
"Four weeks ago," Kara tells her.
"Hm. That's interesting." Alex frowns and seems to retreat into herself a moment. Then she turns back to Kara. "All right, then, that's enough homework for today. You can get back to demigod duty, Supergirl."
Kara deems it superfluous to expend further energy on trying to analyze her sister's nonsensical behavior.
.
.
Three hundred thousand tons of fresh food are about to be thrown away by supermarkets, restaurants, government facilities and businesses right now. Two million tons more of fruits and vegetables are left discarded on farm grounds. Kara can feel them all in her hands, in her encompassing intangible grip. She breathes in, dissolves rotten and overripe produce back into the soil. She breathes out, pushes unsavory bacteria out and away.
She imagines the weight of all this food. Before, it could have crushed her. Now, only her breathing accelerates in reflex.
She breaks the weight apart, into particles, into waves, into energy. She can see very clearly, as if looking at a collection of pictures, every empty fridge and lacking household or community, every person wandering the streets with a backpack or a plastic bag or shopping cart, every food bank in the world.
Breathe in, breathe out. The food reassembles itself, grains and lentils and produce and meat and processed products, distributed evenly between every point of shortage.
Kara can't read minds, but she can read stomachs. She makes adjustments. It takes several hours, but by the end of the day, no stomach remains empty.
.
.
Kara is barely surprised when she finds herself once again in Lena Luthor's office. If she's honest with herself, she knows exactly to what purpose she's here, this time.
Besides. She'd promised.
Lena's posture changes entirely when she sees her. The many intricate muscles in her face rearrange themselves. "You're here," she says, quietly, voice tensed with some unknown quality. "You came back."
"Lena," Kara says, unwilling to dawdle, "James has reminded me of something I like. May I do it to you?"
Lena appears to choke on nothing. Kara isn't worried; she can clearly see that it's only Lena's spit. Nothing life threatening. "I—Ahem, excuse me—I don't know if—Kara, you're not—In your current state—"
"Lena," Kara interrupts once she's satisfied Lena has nothing of actual value to say. "What does it mean when your skin flushes?"
"When my skin fl—Oh, god." Lena covers a large portion of her face with her hand; a useless gesture. Kara can see right through it. "It's—embarrassment. I'm just kind of intensely mortified right now, Kara."
"Why?"
Lena makes a strange noise in her throat. "Please don't ask me any more questions right now. Just—put me out of my misery. I'm definitely going to regret asking, but—What did James do?"
"He put his arms around my shoulders," Kara tells her. "And I wrapped mine around his back, underneath his armpits. We both applied pressure, but only a pleasant amount. He was very close and very warm. It felt—good."
"Oh," Lena says on an exhale. Her eyebrows lift. "You hugged."
"Yes," Kara confirms, glad to have reached an understanding. "I'd like to perform it with you, now."
Lena takes a deep breath. Kara finds her gaze drawn to Lena's chest, watching as it rises and falls with the expansion of her lungs, the contraction of her diaphragm. "Okay," Lena says quietly, taking a step forward. She places her hands on Kara's shoulders—this time Kara doesn't have to float. The edges of her index fingers brush the sides of Kara's neck, and Kara is aware of a slight, brief motion of Lena's left fingertip: a smooth caress across the slope of Kara's throat, then a pause.
Lena's face is very close. Her heartbeat is loud and strong in Kara's ears. It's a good sound. "Arms around your shoulder," Lena murmurs. Kara's body shivers in response. She snakes her own arms under Lena's armpits to encircle her back.
Lena is even closer now. Kara closes her eyes, but of course. It's a useless gesture. "Apply pressure," Lena whispers. She squeezes. Tilts her head even closer. "Just the right amount."
Their foreheads are touching now. Lena has closed her eyes too. Kara's breath hitches, but that's just as well. Breathing is unnecessary for her anyway.
They hold the position for two minutes and forty seven seconds. Kara's hands drift naturally down Lena's body to settle at her waist. Lena's body pulses with her blood, rattles with her breath. Kara's is utterly still.
At the forty sixth second of minute two, Lena opens her eyes. "Did that feel good, Kara?" she whispers. She's using the past tense, but doesn't move to let go.
"Yes," Kara whispers, matching Lena's timbre. "Thank you, Lena."
Lena sighs, a deep motion, air lifting her chest again and whooshing out of her nose, brushing Kara's face in a warm airy tickle. Kara notes in herself a strange awareness of Lena's mouth.
"Any time," Lena says, and lets go.