Chapter 7: Justice, Like Lightning
Silence hung in Jefferson's car as he and Oliver sat in the front seats, both staring out through the windshield. Night had fallen as Oliver told his story, and now the only illumination was provided by a streetlight shining through the car's windows, the sky above blocked out by storm clouds that had rolled in over the city.
"So that's it, huh?" Jefferson questioned as he looked over at Oliver and arched an eyebrow.
"The parts I feel like talking about," Oliver replied with a shrug.
Hesitantly, Oliver glanced over at Jefferson, worried the man would push him to talk about things he didn't want to share, but instead, Jefferson merely nodded quietly.
"That's a hell of a story, Oliver," Jefferson said as he looked out through the windshield, "It's a miracle you're even alive to tell it."
"I'm surprised you're so chill about this," Oliver observed, "I mean, I think if most people heard that, they wouldn't believe me."
"You'd be surprised what I'm willing to believe," Jefferson replied, a slightly haunted tone to his words.
"Mr. Pierce, why do you care so much about this?" Oliver questioned as his brow furrowed.
"I just want you to be safe, Oliver," Jefferson explained, "I've been watching over you since you were a kid. I don't want to see you mixed up in this stuff."
"But it's more than that," Oliver countered with a shake of his head, "You….I don't know, you talk like you've seen this kind of stuff before. Like you have first hand knowledge on this superhero shit."
At this, Jefferson let out a tired sigh before he turned his head and looked at Oliver.
"It's probably because I do," Jefferson said solemnly.
"What are you talking about?" Oliver inquired as he looked at Jefferson in confusion.
In response, Jefferson lifted his hand so it hung between them, palm facing up. Then, with a flex of his fingers, Jefferson caused small bolts of blue electricity to begin dancing between his fingertips, illuminating the interior of the car as he did so. Instinctively, Oliver flinched back, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end once more while the smell of ozone filled his nostrils. After a moment, Jefferson closed his hand, smothering the bolts of electricity and casting the interior of the car back into darkness.
"W-What was that?" Oliver asked in shock as he looked at Jefferson with wide eyes.
"My power," Jefferson replied, his expression and gaze unwavering.
"Your…." Oliver began to repeat, before he blinked in surprise, "Mr. Pierce, are you a mutant?"
"Yeah," Jefferson answered with a small chuckle, "But that's not why I showed you that."
"Then why…." Oliver started to question before his eyes went wide in understanding, "You're….You're Black Lightning, aren't you?"
"I was Black Lightning," Jefferson replied as he sat back in his seat and looked out the windshield, his expression turning haunted, "But that was a long time ago."
"Is that why you're so against this?" Oliver questioned as his brow furrowed, "Because of what happened to you back in the day?"
There was a pause before Jefferson gave a slight nod, still looking out the window.
"What did happen to you back in the day?" Oliver inquired.
"Oliver, I-" Jefferson began to say, a reluctant look on his face.
"Oh, don't give me that," Oliver cut him off, his tone annoyed, "I just got through spilling my guts to you. The least you could do is do the same."
Jefferson studied Oliver for a moment before letting out a sigh of defeat.
"Alright," Jefferson relented with a small nod, "Alright, I'll tell you about Black Lightning."
As Jefferson settled back into his seat, he gazed out the front window once more, a faraway look in his eyes.
"How I got my powers isn't much of a story," Jefferson said, "Just like any mutant, I was born with them, and they were quietly waiting for the day they would emerge. For me, that day was when I was fifteen and I blew up the family television. And let me tell you, I was scared out of my mind. This is back when mutants were first emerging as a hot button issue, and people were frightened. Mix being a young black man into all that, and I was convinced these sparks jumping from my hands were going to get me killed.
Forty years ago,
A teenaged Jefferson sat on a stained mattress in a small bedroom. He had a lanky, scrawny frame and his hair was an afro of tangled black curls. Dressed in a yellow and blue striped shirt and blue jeans, he sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, a frightened expression plastered across his face. Holding his trembling hands up, Jefferson let out a small whimper as blue sparks began dancing across his fingertips.
Suddenly, a knock came from the closed door, causing Jefferson to jump in surprise, which, in turn, caused a bolt of electricity to shoot out of his hand and strike the ceiling, leaving a small burn mark in its wake, joining the dozens already there.
"Jeff?" a deep, concerned voice asked from the other side, "Are you okay in there?"
"D-Don't come here, Pop!" Jefferson exclaimed anxiously, "I-I don't want to hurt you!"
"I...I know, son," Jefferson's father replied, his worry palpable, "That's why I brought someone here to help you."
"Help me?" Jefferson asked in confusion, "Who the hell can help me now?"
"I think I might be able to, Jefferson," a new, male voice with a cultured accent answered, "Would it be alright if I came in?"
At this, Jefferson blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the new voice.
"Jefferson?" the voice prompted after another moment of silence.
"Uh...y-yeah," Jefferson mumbled, confusion written on his face, "I-I guess."
With that, the knob to the door turned and the door to Jefferson's room slowly swung open. Standing on the other side of the door was a Caucasian man in his late twenties with piercing blue eyes, a slim build, and a completely bald head. He wore a brown sports jacket over a black turtleneck, brown slacks and brown leather shoes.
Standing behind the man was a heavy set black man with brown eyes, short black hair, and a black mustache. He was dressed in a white, button up shirt, blue jeans and brown loafers.
"Hello, Jefferson," the bald man greeted with a warm, friendly smile, "It's very nice to meet you. My name is Professor Charles Xavier."
"My dad says that you can help me?" Jefferson questioned wearily as he glanced at the man standing in the hall behind Charles.
"I do believe I can," Charles confirmed with a nod.
"How?" Jefferson asked as his brow furrowed.
"Well, you see, Jefferson," Charles replied, but instead of talking, his voice seemed to echo with the boy's own mind, "I am very much like you."
At this, Jefferson jerked back in surprise, causing a few sparks of electricity to dance across his arms.
"Did….Did you just talk in my head?" Jefferson inquired, his eyes wide.
"Indeed I did," Charles replied out loud, "Mutants like us each possess unique gifts. Mine is telepathy, while yours appears to be electrokinesis."
"Electro….what?" Jefferson questioned as his brow knitted together.
"Electrokinesis," Charles repeated with a bemused smile, "Essentially, it is the ability to control and, in your case, generate electricity."
"Can you…." Jefferson began to say, pausing as he glanced between his hands and Charles, electricity dancing between his fingers, "Can you make it go away?"
"Go away?" Charles echoed as he took a few steps closer to Jefferson, "I'm afraid not. This power, it's a part of you, Jefferson, in the same way that your arms and legs are."
As Charles spoke, he slowly sat down on the bed next to Jefferson, who had returned his gaze to his hands.
"But I can help you learn to control it," Charles continued.
"Y-You can?" Jefferson questioned as he looked back at Charles.
"I can," Charles confirmed, "I just opened a school for children much like yourself. Other young people born with powers they don't fully understand and are still learning to control. If you join us there, I can help you become the person you were born to be."
Jefferson went quiet for a few moments as he pondered Charles' offer. Turning his gaze towards his father, who was still standing in the hallway, Jefferson watched as the older man smiled and gave him a reassuring nod.
"Okay," Jefferson said quietly as he looked back at Charles and nodded, "I'm in."
Modern day,
"And just like that, I was enrolled at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Jefferson said, still looking out the car windshield, listening as the distant sound of thunder rolled across the city.
"Gifted Youngsters?" Oliver repeated with a bemused smile.
"Well, it's not like he could just write "Mutant Training Academy" on the front door or anything," Jefferson explained with a smirk of his own, "But that's exactly what it was. In between learning history and science, we would be taught how to control our powers, and use them to defend ourselves."
"Defend yourselves?" Oliver questioned.
"Yeah," Jefferson confirmed, his expression turning grim, "Professor Xavier understood how dangerous the world could be for mutants, and he wanted us to know how to protect ourselves if the time came. And for a select few of us, he trained us to work as a team, and fight to make the world a better place for mutants and humans alike."
"Fight, huh?" Oliver inquired, "It sounds like they were training you to be a superhero."
"Pretty much," Jefferson agreed with a nod, "But I had to come home in order to become Black Lightning. And when it came time to go to college, I did exactly that."
Thirty-six years ago
Jefferson, now a young man with broad shoulders and an athletic build, stood on the edge of a college campus, grinning brightly. His hair was still styled in an afro and he wore a black leather jacket over a yellow, collared shirt with the first few buttons undone to show some of his chest. Along with this, he wore a pair of bell bottom blue jeans and black boots.
"Damn, it feels good to be home," Jefferson commented wistfully.
"Oi'm pretty sure we came trough Star City a couple of times with de oders, Jeff," a feminine voice with an Irish lilt said from behind him, "Or did dose not count?"
Glancing back, Jeff found a Caucasian woman roughly the same age as he was standing behind him. She had pale features, a slim build, green eyes, and red, feathered hair that fell past her shoulders. She was dressed in a green, billowy blouse with voluminous sleeves and a pair of form-fitting, bell bottom jeans.
"This is different, Theresa," Jefferson replied with a grin, "We were busy then. Now, I can show you all the best places in the city. The best food, the place where I grew up-"
"Maybe he'll even introduce you to his friends," a new voice said, attracting both Jefferson and Theresa's attention.
Turning around, Jefferson found a young black man roughly his age standing a short distance away. The young man was about the same height as Jefferson, but slightly broader with a muscular physique. He also sported his black hair in an afro, and a thick mustache sat above his lips. He was dressed in a light blue police uniform, and his light brown eyes seemed to sparkle as he grinned at Jefferson.
"Q?" Jefferson questioned as he beamed at the other man, "If that you, brotha?"
"And here I thought little Jeffy wouldn't recognize me," the other man, Q, replied as he walked towards Jefferson, "Bring it in, brotha!"
In reply, Jefferson clasped hands with Q and pulled the other man into a one armed embrace, both men laughing as they pat each other on the back.
"Look at you, man!" Q exclaimed as he stepped back and gestured at Jefferson, "What, they feed you whole cows at that fancy boarding school you went to?"
"What you see here is just good old fashioned healthy living, my brother," Jefferson answered with a laugh before he gestured at Q, "But take a look at you! Who thought it was a good idea to let you become a cop? Especially after all the trouble we used to get into."
"Well, you know what they say," Q replied with a helpless shrug, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Besides, you know my old man always wanted me to follow him into "the family business". The way I see it, with a few more brothas on the inside, we might be able to make some changes."
"Good luck with that," Jefferson said with a dismissive snort.
"What about you, Jeffy?" Q inquired, "What brings you back to Star City?"
"College, of course," Jefferson answered as he gestured towards the college campus, "Came back to get myself a higher education, just like my old man always wanted."
"Speakin' of yer father," Theresa spoke up as she smiled in bemusement, "Didn't he teach ya it was rude not to introduce yer friends?"
"Right of course, sorry," Jefferson apologized before he motioned towards Theresa, "Q, this is Theresa Cassidy, my friend from school. Theresa, this is Quentin Lance, my old friend from the neighborhood. We call him Q for short."
"Don't see why," Theresa replied as she stepped up next to Jefferson and offered Q her hand, "Quentin seems loike a foine name to me."
"Irish, huh?" Q inquired with a charming smile as he shook Theresa's hand, "Guess you come from all over to go to that fancy school. You know, my Nana used to say we had a bit of Irish in our family."
"Oh, Oi can see dat," Theresa said as she smiled back at Q, "It's all in de eyes."
"Oh, I'm starting to see that," Q replied as he winked at Theresa, causing her cheeks to redden.
"Well, I'm happy you two are hitting it off," Jefferson commented with a smirk as he quirked an eyebrow at his two friends, "But I think me and Theresa need to be figuring out our way around campus now."
"That's fine, man," Q agreed with a sigh, "I should get back to my beat over in the Glades anyway."
"How are things in the Glades these days?" Jefferson questioned, a look of concern on his face, "Are they really as bad as my dad's been saying?"
"Maybe worse," Q answered grimly, "This new guy, Cottonmouth? He's a serious customer. Starting to look like he might take over the Glades at the rate he's going. Your dad keeps trying to expose him through his articles, but I keep telling him that it's only going to get him into trouble."
"Trouble's never stopped my dad from printing the truth before," Jefferson commented with a helpless shrug.
"I know," Q agreed, his expression troubled, "But I'm starting to worry it might just get him killed."
Modern day,
"It did, didn't it?" Oliver questioned, speaking up for the first time in a while as rain began to patter against the ground outside the cover of the overpass, "Writing about Cottonmouth got your Dad killed."
"...Yeah," Jefferson confirmed with a slow nod as he stared down at the car's steering wheel, "My dad and his partner, this guy named Ben Urich, kept digging into Cottonmouth's business, trying to expose him. Eventually, a few months after I came home, Cottonmouth decided he had had enough. By that time, Q and Theresa had become an item, and I had met a pre-med student by the name of Lynn Stewart. We were coming back from a date when my whole life changed forever."
Thirty-six years ago,
The younger Jefferson, dressed in a black, button-up shirt and tan slacks walked alongside a young black woman the same age as him, dressed in a green collared dress with short sleeves that hung down to mid-thigh. She had short, black hair, brown eyes and a slim build.
"You know, when you told me you were going to drag me down to the Glades for dinner, I was ready to cancel this date altogether," the young woman said as she smirked up at Jefferson, "But that little Haitian place you took us to just now? That made the whole night worth it."
"I told you, Lynn, the best food in the whole city is in the Glades," Jefferson replied with a laugh, "Next time I-"
Jefferson trailed off as he heard the sound of sirens. Looking around, he spotted a pair of police cruisers come to a sudden stop at the end of the street.
"What is it?" Lynn asked in confusion, "What's wrong?"
"My….My dad's office is down there," Jefferson explained, a frightened look coming over his features, "That's where he works."
"Do you think-" Lynn began to say but stopped as Jefferson suddenly took off running towards the cop cars, "Jeff wait!"
Reaching the end of the street in a matter of moments, Jefferson quickly spotted Q among the police officers who were milling about outside, a horrified look on his friend's face.
"Shit," Q muttered under his breath as he spotted Jefferson moving towards him.
"Q, what's going on in there, man?" Jefferson questioned, glancing rapidly between his friend and the door with wide, frightened eyes, "Is my dad okay?"
"Look, Jeff, I need you to take a deep breath man," Q replied as he positioned himself between Jefferson and the door.
"Is my dad okay!?" Jefferson demanded as he glared at Q.
Q blinked in surprise at the ferocity of the question, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"N-No," Q mumbled in surprise as he shook his head, "Your dad, he's-"
Before Q could finish answering, Jefferson had pushed past him, rushed by the other police officers and entered the building.
"Jeff, wait, no!" Q called after him before running after his friend.
Bounding up the stairs to the building's second floor, Jefferson pushed past a pair of police officers guarding the door and burst into his father's office. The room was a mess, with desks overturned, papers scattered across the floor, and black stains of ink marring the walls. As Jefferson looked around the room, he spotted a slightly older black man with short hair and glasses sitting on the ground, one of the police officers holding a rag to a bleeding wound on the man's head. Looking up as Jefferson entered, the man's eyes widened as he saw the young man.
"Jefferson!?" the man questioned in shock as he tried to rise to his feet, only to wince in pain and sag back to the floor, "Y-You shouldn't be here! You shouldn't see this!"
"What are you talking about, Ben?" Jefferson questioned as he looked around in confusion, "Where's my…."
Jefferson trailed off as he noticed the glaringly obvious thing in the room, something that, until that moment, his mind had refused to register. Laying in the center of the room, surrounded by loose pieces of paper, was the body of Alvin Pierce. He lay on his back, his arms and legs splayed out around him, his eyes open and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Horrifically, Alvin's mouth was stuffed with pieces of paper, enough that his mouth was propped open to accommodate it all. Additionally, it looked as if someone had dumped a gallon of ink into his mouth, staining his clothes and his face.
Jefferson stared at his father's unmoving form, his mind going blank as he tried to process what he was seeing. Eventually, Jefferson registered that his father was not moving, not having taken a breath since he entered the room. As he finally understood what that meant, Jefferson's emotions came rushing out of him and he let out a wail of anguish. At the same time, power rushed out of Jefferson, causing all the lights in the room to suddenly flicker and burst, plunging the room into depressive darkness.
Modern day,
"Cottonmouth….choked him with paper and ink?" Oliver questioned, his expression horrified, illuminated by a flash of lightning from the storm outside the car.
"Ben told me he wanted my father to choke on his words," Jefferson growled, having reached up to wrap his hands around the steering wheel of his car so tightly, his knuckles began to turn white.
"So that was it, huh?" Oliver asked, "That's what made you become Black Lightning."
"I had to avenge my father," Jefferson explained, "But I knew I couldn't just run up on Cottonmouth and start swinging, even with my powers. But I wouldn't be the first superhero Star City ever had. Back in the forties and fifties there was a woman called the Black Canary running around. So I took a play out of her playbook and got myself a mask and a costume and started hitting Cottonmouth's operations. Wasn't long after that the papers started calling me Black Lightning. It was actually Ben Ulrich who came up with that, the same guy who named you."
"What happened after that?" Oliver pressed.
"I spent a while fighting the good fight," Jefferson answered with a shrug, "Beat up the bad guys, made friends with some other heroes. Was even on a team for a while. Meanwhile I graduated from college, got a job as a teacher, married Lynn, and eventually had my two girls."
"And Cottonmouth?" Oliver asked.
"He always found a way to slither out of my grasp," Jefferson replied, grimacing and shaking his head, "I managed to catch him a few times, even put him in jail once, but Cottonmouth has managed to make friends in high places and nothing ever sticks to him for long."
"So, what happened?" Oliver questioned, as a crack of thunder roared from outside, "What made you give up being Black Lightning?"
"It all came to a head about two decades ago," Jefferson explained, his eyes taking on a distant look as he gazed out the car window once more.
Twenty years ago.
Storm clouds hung dark and heavy over Star City, blocking out the night sky, with the only celestial illumination coming from the occasional flash of lightning. Down near the city's dockyards, a lone warehouse stood, it's confines dark except for the occasional quick flashes of electric blue light.
At the center of the warehouse, Jefferson stood, his head now shaved bald while a goatee grew around his mouth. He was dressed in a latex costume, primarily colored blue and black, with a pair of stylized, yellow lighting bolts running down his chest. Black, shin-high boots sat on his feet while blue gloves covered his hands and his eyes were obscured by a pair of black goggles. Sparks of electricity danced across his hands as he clenched them into fists.
A half dozen tough looking men surrounded Jefferson, each of them armed with baseball bats, knives or lengths of pipe and eyeing the costumed man wearily. A tense moment passed as the six men glared at Jefferson, who wordlessly glanced around at them.
Then, as if by some unspoken cue, one of the men charged at Jefferson's back, a baseball bat raised to strike. Spinning in place, Jefferson crouched and thrust both hands at the man, his fingers splayed. A moment later, bolts of blue electricity shot from Jefferson's hands and struck the thug in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground, where he twitched spasmodically.
As this happened, another one of the thugs rushed at Jefferson's backside, a knife gripped in his raised fist. Turning to face the thug, Jefferson reached up and grabbed the man's wrist before he could plunge the blade down at him. As Jefferson held the man's arm in check, electricity surged out of his hand and into the thug's arm, causing him to scream in pain and drop the knife.
As the thug spasmed in pain, Jefferson dipped down and pulled the man onto his shoulders before lifting him up into a fireman's carry. Turning his attention towards a thug armed with a length of pipe, Jefferson tossed the man on his shoulders at his compatriot, hitting the first thug in the chest and sending them both crashing to the ground.
Falling to the ground, the thug lost his grip on his length of pipe, sending it clattering across the concrete floor. Spotting it, Jefferson pointed a finger at the pipe, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot out and strike the makeshift weapon, creating a tether between it and Jefferson. Then, with a pulling motion, Jefferson yanked the pipe off the ground and sent it flying into his waiting hand.
Spinning as he grabbed the pipe, Jefferson found another thug bearing down on him with a switchblade, the hero lashed out at him with pipe, striking his attacker on his knife arm. Crying out in pain, the thug dropped the switchblade, but his shout was cut off as Jefferson shoved one end of the pipe against the man's chest and electrified it, sending electricity coursing through the man's body. As the thug spasmed in pain, Jefferson stuck him on the side of the face with the pipe, sending him crumpling to the ground.
By this time, the thug that Jefferson had knocked to the ground by throwing his compatriot at him managed to pick himself up. Noticing this, Jefferson spun back around and hurled the length of pipe at the thug. The pipe spun through the air for a moment before striking the thug directly in the face. As the pipe clattered to the floor, the thug fell to his knees, screaming in pain while holding his hands up to his now bleeding face.
Taking advantage of Jefferson's distracted attention, a thug armed with a baseball bat ran up behind the hero and wrapped his arms around the hero, using the bat to hold him in place.
"I got him!" the thug exclaimed as his last remaining compatriot rushed towards Jefferson with a knife, "I got-"
The thug was cut off as electricity surged out of Jefferson's body and into his, causing him to spasm in pain. After a moment, the energy burst sent the thug flying, forcing him to release his grasp on Jefferson as he sailed a short distance through the air and landed on the ground in a crumpled heap, wisps of smoke rising from his burnt clothes.
Seeing this, the remaining thug stumbled to a stop, looking at his compatriot laying on the ground with wide eyes. Hearing the sound of boots pounding against concrete, the thug turned his attention towards Jefferson, only to find the hero rushing at him, one fist cocked back and electricity dancing across his knuckles. With a roar, Jefferson struck the thug with an uppercut, the electricity contained within the blow surging outward, knocking the thug off his feet and sending him flying across the room before he crashed down onto the hard, concrete floor.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Jefferson glanced around, observing the six thugs that now lay scattered around him as he stood beneath a large skylight in the ceiling, the sound of the pounding rain filling the silence. Suddenly, the sound of someone clapping echoed through the warehouse, and Jefferson whipped his head around to look at the source of the noise. A short distance away, a younger Cottonmouth emerged from the darkness, flanked by another half-dozen thugs, each of them armed with wooden bats. Cottonmouth was dressed in a purple, button down shirt and matching pants, with snakeskin cowboy boots and a black vest with red snake designs embroidered onto it. His large grin showed off his pointed, metal teeth, and he held his silver, snake-head cane in the crook of his arm as he clapped enthusiastically.
"Bravo!" Cottonmouth calls as he notices he has gained Jefferson's attention, "Bravo! It is impressive that you can still put on such a show after all these years, Black Lightning."
"Enough games, Cottonmouth," Jefferson growled as he glared at the man through his goggles, "I'm putting your ass in jail for good this time."
"Well, that's disappointing," Cottonmouth replied with a sigh as he shook his head and planted the tip of his cane against the ground before leaning his weight against it, "You know, we've been doing this dance for a long time now, but you still haven't learned the steps."
"I learned what you're doing here," Jefferson countered, "I've always thought you were a bastard, Cottonmouth, but even I didn't think you'd sink as low as human trafficking."
"Well, then I have some good news!" Cottonmouth exclaimed with a laugh, "Because all of that so-called "evidence" you found? It ain't real!"
"What?" Jefferson questioned, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"It's fake! Bogus! I made it all up!" Cottonmouth explained, waving one hand flippantly through the air, laughing all the while, "The only time I ever trafficked anybody is when I used to drive my mama to church on Sundays."
"If it was all fake, what was this for then?" Jefferson demanded.
"This?" Cottonmouth asked as he gestured around at the men laying on the ground, "This was all to get you standing where you are right now."
As Cottonmouth spoke, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out some kind of remote control. Holding the control up so that Jefferson could see it, Cottonmouth pushed the one button on the device, causing it to beep. A moment later, the window directly above Jefferson creaked loudly before it slid to the side, causing the rain to come pouring in.
Jefferson only had time to let out a gasp of surprise before the rain struck him, instantly soaking him. As it did, dozens of bolts of electricity started shooting off of Jefferson, causing him to scream in pain. As the bolts of electricity struck the ground and walls around Jefferson, Cottonmouth's men took hesitant steps back. Cottonmouth, however, stood his ground, watching the display with a wide, sharp-toothed smile, the shadows cast by the bolts of electricity jumping off of Jefferson casting ghoulish shadows across the gangster's face.
After a few moments, the surge of electricity stopped and Jefferson sat hunched over the floor on his hands and knees, periodic sparks dancing across his skin as the rain continued to pour down onto him through the open skylight.
"You see, in all the years of us doing this little dance, I've learned a thing or two about you, Black Lightning," Cottonmouth said as he walked over to Jefferson, stopping just short of where the rain was falling, "Like your weaknesses."
Using his cane, Cottonmouth prodded Jefferson in the side, almost managing to push the weakened hero over in the process.
"Water and electricity don't mix, do they, boy?" Cottonmouth questioned as he gave Jefferson another sharp-toothed grin.
Then, without another word, Cottonmouth flipped his cane over in his hand and slammed the silver snakehead against the side of Jefferson's face. Jefferson cried out in pain as he fell to the ground, blood leaking out of a large gash on the side of his face. Still grinning, Cottonmouth lifted his cane again, blood now dripping from the snake's fangs, and struck Jefferson another blow across the head.
"Well, come on now!" Cottonmouth called, laughter in his voice as he waved his men over, "I ain't paying you to just stand there and gawk! Come and join the fun!"
Grinning maliciously, the men hurried over to Cottonmouth's side and formed a circle around Jefferson. Then, the hero's entire world dissolved into pain as Cottonmouth and his men rained blows down upon Jefferson with bats, boots and the gangster's ever present cane, mixing with the torrential downpour that left Black Lightning soaked to the bone, his blood mixing with the water that puddled on the floor.
It took all of Jefferson's strength to not fall unconscious beneath the assault. As his vision began to darken, however, the distant sound of thunder reached his ears, and in that moment, Jefferson had a realization.
Jefferson tried to speak, but his words were cut off as one of the thugs kicked him hard in the stomach. The effort, however, was enough to catch Cottonmouth's attention.
"Hold up now," Cottonmouth said as he raised his hand, prompting his thugs to stop their assault, "I think Black Lightning wants to share his last words with us."
As Cottonmouth's men stepped back, the gangster leaned down so that he was level with Jefferson, who managed to push himself back up to his hands and knees.
"What have you got to say, hero?" Cottonmouth inquired as he flashed Jefferson another sharp-toothed grin.
"I was trying to say you messed up," Jefferson replied, his words slurred by his bleeding mouth.
"Messed up?" Cottonmouth questioned as he quirked an eyebrow at Jefferson, "How do you figure that?"
"Because this isn't a rainstorm," Jefferson answered, pausing to spit out a wad of blood before fixing Cottonmouth with a gory grin, "It's a lightning storm."
Cottonmouth's brow furrowed in confusion before the rumble of thunder brought his attention towards the still open skylight. Seeing the flash of lightning arcing behind the storm clouds, Cottonmouth's eyes widened in horrified realization. Before Cottonmouth could do anything though, Jefferson rose up on his feet and thrust his hand towards the skylight, the smell of ozone suddenly filling the room. A split second later, a lightning bolt shot through the skylight and struck Jefferson, creating an explosion of electricity, light and sound that sent Cottonmouth and his men flying.
After a few moments of oblivion, Cottonmouth found himself laying on the concrete floor, his vision blurry and his ears ringing. Coughing as he sat up, Cottonmouth looked around and found his men in a similar state. Looking towards the growing puddle of water and blood beneath the open skylight, Cottonmouth saw to his shock that Jefferson was gone.
"Get up!" Cottonmouth bellowed as he pushed himself to his feet, "Get your lazy asses up! Find Black Lightning! Find him and bring me his head!"
Lightning streaked through the sky above an alley just outside the warehouse as Jefferson stumbled down it, clutching an injured arm with his other hand, blood leaking from his many wounds. As he made his way down the alley, Jefferson's legs began to give out beneath him, and he slouched against a nearby wall before slowly sliding to the ground where he sat, aching in pain.
Through his pain-clouded brain, Jefferson noted the sound of tires rolling across the wet pavement at the end of the alley, while red and blue lights flashed from the same direction. Hearing a car door open, Jefferson raised his head and spotted Q, dressed in a dark green parka with the letters SCPD emblazoned on the chest and his revolver drawn, a police cruiser with the driver side door open idling behind him.
"Sir?" Q questioned with a concerned tone, "Are you alright?"
"H-Help," Jefferson wheezed as he reached a trembling hand out towards his friend.
"Holy crap!" Q whispered in shock as he holstered his gun and rushed to Jefferson's side, "Black Lightning!?"
"Help m-me," Jefferson pleaded again as he looked up at Q.
"Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" Q asked as he looked Jefferson over, taking in the sight of the beaten man with wide, horrified eyes, "We need to get you to a hospital."
"N-No," Jefferson weakly asserted, "N-No hospitals. Take me….home."
"Home?" Q repeated in confusion, "I have no idea where you live. How can I take you home?"
"Q" Jefferson replied as he weakly reached up to his face with one hand and pulled his goggles down, "It….It's me."
"J-Jeff?" Q questioned, shock plastered across his face, "You're Black Lightning?"
Before either man could say anything more, a crash followed by the sound of multiple running feet from the other end of the alley caught their attention.
"Find him!" Cottonmouth's voice echoed down to them, "He couldn't have gotten far!"
Turning his attention back towards Jefferson, Q's expression morphed into one of grim resolve before he leaned down and looped one of his friend's arms over his shoulder. Then, lifting Jefferson to his feet as best he could, Q half dragged his friend over to his police cruiser, loaded him into the passenger seat and hopped into the driver's seat before peeling away just as Cottonmouth's men began making their way down the alley.
A short while later, Q's police cruiser pulled up in front of Jefferson's house, rain still pouring down as thunder rumbled from above. With Q's help, Jefferson made his way into the darkened house.
"Bring me to the bathroom," Jefferson requested, "Get….Get me in the tub."
Nodding in acknowledgement, Q half-carried Jefferson down a hall and through a door that led to a small bathroom with a white tiled floor, toilet, sink and a porcelain bathtub. Gently, Q lowered Jefferson into the tub, the hero groaning in pain as he did.
"Alright, I'll go find some-" Q began to say as he rose to his feet and turned towards the door, only to freeze as he found someone standing there.
The person was a young girl no older than eight with African American features, brown eyes, and an afro of curly brown hair. She was dressed in a set of pink, fleece pajamas decorated with rainbows and hearts, and held a well-loved teddy bear tucked under her arm.
"Daddy?" the little girl asked as she looked at Jefferson in wide-eyed horror.
"A-Anissa?" Jefferson questioned as he weakly sat up in the tub and looked over his shoulder at the little girl, "Go-Go back to sleep now, baby girl."
"Are you hurt?" the girl, Anissa, questioned, worry clear on her face, "It looks like you're bleeding a lot."
"D-Daddy's fine," Jefferson insisted as he weakly tried to rise from the tub, only to slump over again, "Your Uncle Q has it under control, baby girl. You go on back to bed."
Before Anissa could say or do anything more, Lynn appeared in the doorway, wearing a light blue robe.
"Oh my God!" Lynn exclaimed in horror as she took in the scene before her, "Jeff, what happened!?"
"I-I had a bad run in with Cottonmouth, baby," Jefferson mumbled weakly.
"Cottonmouth!?" Lynn shouted as she glared at Jefferson, "You promised me you weren't going to go after him again!"
"I-I had to Lynn," Jefferson argued, "He was going to hurt people."
"And instead, it's you that gets hurt!" Lynn snapped, "And then you have Q drag your bleeding ass back here so that you can traumatize your own daughter!"
"Wait, you knew about all this?" Q asked as he looked at Lynn in confusion.
"Of course I did!" Lynn exclaimed in frustration before burying her face in her hands, her breath hitching as she choked back a sob, "And I don't think I can do this anymore."
"Don't cry, Mommy," Anissa said as she turned and hugged her mother's leg, looking up at the woman with wide, sympathetic eyes, "Daddy will be okay."
"Lynn, what….what are you saying?" Jefferson asked as fear began to leak into his features.
"I'm saying," Lynn began to reply, before she paused in order to take a breath and reach down to scoop Anissa up into her arms, "That this is the last straw. I'm taking the girls to my mother's and when I get back, you had better not be here."
With that, Lynn turned and marched away, clutching Anissa tightly to her chest.
"Lynn, wait!" Jefferson pleaded, attempting to rise from the tub and go after her, only to cry out in pain and barely manage to keep from falling to the floor with Q's help.
"Easy, Jeff," Q said, his expression worried as he eased Jefferson back into the tub, "I think you've got bigger things to worry about right now."
"Lynn….please…." Jefferson mumbled to himself, his vision darkening as he began to slip into unconsciousness, "Don't go…."
Modern day
"And that was that," Jefferson said, his gaze focused on the steering wheel in front of him, "After that night, no one ever saw Black Lightning again."
"So, you quit?" Oliver inquired as he arched an eyebrow at Jefferson.
"Of course," Jefferson answered forcefully, "I had a family to take care of, what else could I do?"
"But, I know you're not married anymore, Mr. Pierce," Oliver observes as his brow furrowed, "So you and Lynn got divorced anyway?"
"Yeah," Jefferson confirmed with a sigh, "Turns out, our relationship couldn't be saved by me not being Black Lightning anymore."
"And Cottonmouth?" Oliver pressed.
"I'm pretty sure he thinks I died in a gutter or something," Jefferson replied, "That's my legacy as Black Lightning. I got into this to take Cottonmouth and in the end, all I ended up with were scars and a broken family, while he's more powerful than ever."
Slowly, Jefferson turned his attention fully towards Oliver.
"That's why I wanted to talk to you, Oliver," Jefferson continued, a pleading tone entering his voice, "This thing you've started, whatever the reason was, you have to stop. You have to lay low, let this whole thing blow over. I can hide you somewhere else in the city, somewhere where Cottonmouth can't find you. Being a hero, all it does is bring you misery in the end."
Oliver was quiet as Jefferson spoke, turning his attention towards his own hands laying in his lap, the silence broken by the sound of rain pouring down onto the overpass above the car.
"During your time as Black Lightning," Oliver finally said after a few quiet moments, "Did you save people?"
"Of course," Jefferson replied, blinking in surprise as he was caught off guard by the question.
"How many?" Oliver inquired.
"Dozens," Jefferson answered, his expression turning pensive, "Probably hundreds."
"Then can you look me in the eye and tell me that for all the sacrifices you had to make, it wasn't worth it?" Oliver asked as he finally lifted his head and looked Jefferson dead in the eye.
Jefferson offered no response as he stared wide-eyed at Oliver.
"That's what I thought," Oliver continued, his expression grim, "After everything I've been through, everything I've seen, I can't just stand by and watch people get hurt."
Jefferson continued to remain silent as Oliver opened the car door and stepped out of the vehicle.
"Thanks for the talk, Mr. Pierce," Oliver said as he leaned down and looked at Jefferson again, "It's been….illuminating."
With that, Oliver closed the door and began walking away. Seeing this seemed to break whatever spell he was under and he quickly threw open his door and stepped out of his car.
"Cottonmouth won't back down if you push this!" Jefferson called, causing Oliver to pause at the edge of the cover the overpass provided, the rain sleeting down before him, "After all my years of fighting him, I know that he's going to try and stomp you out as quickly as possible. This will be a war!"
Oliver took a moment to think over Jefferson's words before slowly turning his attention towards Jefferson, the coldness in his grey eyes causing a jolt of fear to lance through the older man's heart.
"If Cottonmouth wants a war, I'll give him one," Oliver said grimly, "I'll give him a war he won't believe."
Then, without another word, Oliver pulled up the hood of his green hoodie and walked out into the storm. Jefferson watched him go, a mixture of fear and awe on his face. Then, as another crack of thunder sounded through the city, Jefferson turned his attention upwards, and watched a bolt of lightning streak across the black sky.
A/N: So, this ended up being a massive chapter, but I had a lot of things to cover with Jefferson's past and I didn't see how I could break it up. Hope you all enjoyed it! As usual, feedback and critiques are always welcome, so please review! Later!