(Tabula Rasa)
J'onn finds that his talk with the dog was the most comforting, the most real.
Humans themselves had officially disgusted him for the last time, and he told the beast that as they sat together on the rock.
J'onn learned from this that dogs wag their tails not only when they're happy, but when they're thinking.
They think we're stupid, the dog told him.
Doesn't it bother you?
Tail wag. Not always. Sometimes. More furious tail wag. It all depends, I suppose.
J'onn shifted uncomfortably. Your kind–are you slaves?
The mutt turned its head over to him and smiled, baring teeth in a lopsided grin. We could be, I suppose. But humans...I don't believe they see the relationship as such.
What are you, then?
The tail slowed down. Friends. Family. Guardians. The dog stopped smiling and cocked its head. They are not all like the monsters you see, Green One. Surely you have realized that now.
J'onn inwardly frowned. But they are not all the friends you see. You are out here alone, he observed. That does not help your argument that they are friends.
The dog–as only dogs can, and to a greater extent the act being more subliminal than not–shrugged. My master was not the kindest of men--but, A wider smile flit on the dog's face, and the tail beat the earth furiously, not all humans are like that, and I do not hold my master's stupidity against him. He is–after all–only human.
J'onn stopped. The dog's grin elevated into a beam and his body shuddered as he rose up from sitting and walked over to where J'onn was leaning against a boulder.
They're only human, Green One. Some good, some bad...we cannot all be like your kind.
Staring hard at the dog, J'onn considered petting its head. Something stopped him, though, telling him that this beast was too smart to be treated like an animal.
But I am, the dog said, smiling as he listened in. And I like having my ears scratched.
