A/N: Requested over a month ago, and I finally got it done. Hope you like it, Simmi. I know it's not EXACTLY what you requested, but I'm hoping it's alright.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
In the Hands of Fate
The metal piece was dropped to the floor by shaking, horrified hands. It clanged and clashed against the cold tile floor as Nabu relinquished his control, releasing Grayson from his grasp.
Wally caught the falling bird, keeping him from slamming into the ground as well; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the golden gear spinning, catching the light at certain angles and making it glint as if winking demonically. "I gotcha, Dick," he murmured to the fifteen-year-old's broken, shivering form. "I gotcha."
His hands reached for the speedster's shirt, clinging onto the ginger like he was the last person on earth. He pulled himself flush against Wally, already going in for a much-needed hug, desperate for love, emotion, attention, control. "He- He didn't want me to- to leave, and I had to try and break free, but I couldn't..." Choked sobs rang out in the dank, dark space where Fate had released his host. "He would've kept me forever, Wally. I never..."
"Shh," hushed Wally, already taking Dick into his arms like a mother cradling a crying child. "Relax, you're here. This is real, Dick. This is me, and you're safe now. Nabu won't touch you again, I promise." He smoothed back the baby bird's hair and even tucked him against his chest, hoping his best friend would settled down even just a little bit. Human contact had always soothed him before, just reassurance that he wasn't alone in the world...
"He said I was perfect," breathed the younger, voice still strangled with tears. "He said I was agile enough, strong enough... Nabu wanted to- to keep me... like I was some sort of prize..." Disgust laced his words before he went quiet; another sob racked him.
Wally kept Dick tucked in close, yet the words came out before he knew what he was doing. "You believe in magic?"
Wrapping his arms around the ginger's neck for support, Dick managed to find his spine against and sat upright, still keeping the physical contact (it was an assurance whether West knew it or not) while finding his strength again. "I believe in hope." He swallowed hard and looked at Wally, piercing cerulean gaze sorrowful and pleading. "I believe in faith. I believe in a lot of things, Wally. Magic? Some aspects. Miracles. Coincidence." Unable to hold back, he pressed his face into Wally's chest, feeling weaker than he'd ever been before. "It was enough for- for Nabu."
"Artemis!"
Conner's cry didn't shake her from her duty. She pulled on the helmet.
Her limbs went numb to commands, and everything in her sight was suddenly blackened as if a wreath of shadows had settled down over her eyes, blocking out everything and anything her senses reached out for. She still felt herself breathing. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a war drum. Yet her extremities weren't there; she could feel them existing, but any control or motion of them was intangible.
"Hello?" Artemis felt alone, and the darkness was claustrophobic at its best: nowhere to go but deeper into the black chasm that seemed to go on for an eternity. "Hello?"
Emptiness.
The girl felt the ring of the spotlight raining down on her, and she did not move. There was a hit to her torso. Pain. She felt pain still; the archer doubled over, feeling a shoe knock the wind out of her.
Then there was a clean-cut slice that slit open her bicep. Faintly, the girl could feel blood. It ran down her arm, hot, sticky, wet. The blade had been cold and clean, definitely of the hunting type.
More pain: she cringed as she fell, the air rushing out of body, the sudden slam of limbs against the grassy ground.
She could feel pain, and she could feel how she fell, the type of ground she fell on, and how she'd gotten there, but every other sense that wasn't detecting pain was shut off from the rest of the world.
"Hello?"
There was no answer.
And something hit her, hard and painful. Skin broke, blood spilled. Artemis gave a loud, sharp cry; the sound reverberated through the empty shadows.
There was no response. Empty. Black. Fear.
Alone.
Pain.
"Hey," said Wally, walking into his souvenir room and seeing Rocket. "What's up?"
"Admiring all your junk." She shot him a sassy smile, which earned her a roll of his jade eyes. "Why do you keep this stuff, anyways?" She ran her fingers deftly over Sportsmaster's mask, touch ghosting over it, feather-light.
"It helps me remember everything I've done," he said, putting a small vile of deadly toxins right next to Kobra's cowl. "I mean, I remember it on my own, but this stuff is proof that I did it. So I know what's what and how it went down."
"This trash tells you stories?" asked the girl with a half-laugh, now walking down the line and bending down to analyze the pack that had held Queen Perdita's new heart. "That's whack."
A grin swept across his freckled features. "It's not like I'm a hoarder or anyth- Don't touch that!"
Rocket's hand froze in it's place, hovering right over the Helmet of Fate. She glanced over her shoulder, gaze finding his horrified expression. The young woman's brow furrowed, dozens of questions laying on her lips. "Why?"
He relaxed as her fingers drew away from the souvenir. A slight breath of relief left his lips. "Just don't, alright?" He made sure the vial was secure before pushing her gloved hand away from the helmet. "It tried to take Zatanna and Kaldur." He swallowed hard and stared at the empty eyes, dark and shadowed like the world within it. "And me. Who knows if it'd want to keep you or not?"
Shock lacing her visage, Wally knew he'd scared her away from ever laying a hand on it. He touched her shoulder for a brief second before making a strategic retreat, fully aware of Rocket departing right behind him.
Raquel wouldn't be touching the golden artifact anytime soon.
It nearly killed M'gann.
Nabu relinquished his hold after realizing his host's weakness to the orange flames that lapped around them; he had her pull off the helmet to spare his own life, dropping the young martian's limp, unconscious body to the cold ground at the side of the wildfire.
Conner made sure his one and only was a safe distance away before coming back in to destroy the monstrous piece of power that had tried to take her life. He grabbed the helmet and began by throwing it into the ground, hoping for a dent or some sort of destruction upon the mystical device.
It remained impervious to this attack, leaving him to try crushing it between his bare hands. This had no effect; all Conner managed to do was to get a severe electric shock that surged up his muscular arms, sending sparks through his veins, making his whole body feel like it's on fire.
Lead and magic were two things Kryptonians could not overpower. So he returned to M'gann with the artifact in hand, determined to never let anyone touch it again.
He pushed her down roughly, making sure to kick the Helmet away barely a moment later. "No."
"Kaldur," she hissed through gritted teeth, "we can't win! This is impossible, and Doctor Fate is our last hope! If I don't put it on-"
"If you do put it on," he said with a bit of an underlying growl, "I can guarantee Robin's death. He will not be able to cope with losing you to Nabu. And I will not be able to continue as leader of this team while knowing I could have done something to stop you, Zatanna." His silvery eyes hardened, cold as ice. "Stand down."
A challenge crossed her darkened features, but she settled again after the adrenaline in her system cut out, leaving her drained again. The magician's daughter took the Atlantean's hand and rose to her feet, brushing off her dust-covered uniform.
"Maneuver seven?" he asked, watching as Darkseid fired the Omega Beam from his eyes, the laser-like vision following the team's female archer as she deftly dodged the attack.
She nodded. "Maneuver seven."
"There is one basic rule at Mount Justice," lectured Nightwing, walking his newest team members around the souvenir room. "We do not touch the Helmet of Fate. We don't play with it, we don't lay a finger on it, and if anyone puts it on, don't expect to have fun. So we don't use the Helmet of Fate. Whatsoever. There will be exceptions to this, but that's my call, not yours, got it?"
La'gaan reached out and picked up the artifact, a smug grin on his scaly features. "Why not?" he asked in an obviously mocking tone. "You don't think we'll be strong enough to control all that power?"
Nightwing, with a mask-covered Batglare, roughly stole the object back; he didn't want to give them even the slightest opportunity to screw it up and put it on. "You wouldn't be controlling Doctor Fate's powers," he explained in a frustrated tone. Even Beast Boy listened better than his fellow green friend. "Nabu would be controlling Doctor Fate's powers as well as your body."
Jaime rolled his eyes and gave a slight smile. As if he didn't already know what that was like...
There was no choice. He had to put it on. Wally knew this was the fate of the world right here. The whole world. The universe, if it rose to such a degree. He slid the golden mask over his skull, the last thing he consciously heard was the sound of Megan's voice in his head saying, "Be careful, Wally."
"Nabu," he called out to the Helmet's controller. "The world is at stake here. We need Doctor Fate to guide us into battle and put the odds in our favor." His plea was heard and the ghostly face appeared in the darkness: Nabu. He continued, "We've already lost Zatanna and Captain Marvel along with a few others. We could really use your help right now to keep everyone else alive."
There was no response, but Wally could feel his body moving without his own mind at the controls.
The Lord of Order had accepted his body and was wasting no time in testing the limitations of this form. Kid Flash's body healed quickly, but he was weaker than what Nabu was used to working with; Wally was lightweight, small, and harder to handle. His superspeed even made it difficult to gain real control against the forces of chaos and destruction.
Yet it was only a few minutes later when a sniper's bullet pierced skin. And then another. And another. Any underlying armor meant nothing when agents of the Shadows pulled guns to kill, making sure to hit in lethal places. One had hit an artery in his leg, another piercing his collarbone. The third sliced right into the host's spine, making Nabu realize his mistake: humanity.
That was the problem with so many of his hosts. They aged and withered with time, quite like the late Kent Nelson. Nabu had to release the older man after many years in the Helmet only because his body wasn't functioning as strongly as if had before, leaving Nabu to run the risk of chasing death with a weak form.
Now this teenager's body was deteriorating just the same, and Nabu had to release it.
But he found that he couldn't.
"Wally!" came the sharp cries of his teammates as Fate's form plummeted to the stony ground, lying on the gravel, weak and paralyzed. "Wally!"
He had no hands to use, no feet to move, no body to lift. Nabu had destroyed his host, inadvertently destroying himself.
As Wally bled out, Nabu was dying just the same. Losing his his host to Death would steal his own soul into the cold world of the afterlife. He couldn't stay in a dead host, and no other could remove the Helmet.
Nabu had killed himself.
A/N: Review?
~Sky