Praetor
Chapter 9: The Waking
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Again, nothing here is mine except the story line. DC owns the characters.
And Earth, Air, and LightAnd the Spirit of Might
Which drives round the stars in their
fiery flight;
And love, Thought, and Breath,
The powers that quell Death,
Wherever we soar shall assemble
beneath!
― Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
Rising through a hazy fog of pain and sleep and black nothingness, J'onn began to slowly become aware of his surroundings and his physical self. Gods of Mars, he hated waking up from these deep sleeps, it was as bad as a hangover he was so groggy and fuzzyheaded when he woke up that he sometimes did not care that this was a healing sleep. It could be an annoyingly slow process, sometimes taking hours before he was fully back to normal and not functioning like a half-dead zombie. During that time, he might as well be strapped down for all he was able to do and he was a complete liability to the League, much more so than usual.
His entire body hurt. He had not felt this sore since that last sparring session with Clark but this was worse. It hurt so badly it made his teeth grind together― or it would have if that action didn't hurt as well.
The wounds covering his body were still raw feeling, far from healed, and there was something lying curled on his arm. Why was he waking up? Shouldn't he still be asleep or at least unconscious? And there was something on his arm, wasn't there? Damn but thinking clearly was difficult when his brain felt like mush; he just wanted to go back to sleep.
Several hours later, he was hovering between a deep sleep and a dream when that something on his arm moved to drape itself across his middle, causing some small jolt of pain as it rested on a bruise but no more than a thorn and he could ignore that. What he could not ignore was the sensation of warm breath brushing over his shoulder. That was impossible, he had not shared a bed with anyone in over ten thousand years.
Where was he? He wasn't dead; if he were he wouldn't be in this much pain. Pain meant he was still living. Something rough but fabric feeling was beneath him. Did that mean he was lying on a blanket or a bed? How did he get in a bed? The last thing he remembered was… a battle…
I plunged a sword into that white spot… What happened after that? Did we win? Were the souls… freed?
Oh gods… Diana. She was with me… Gods of Mars, may she be unharmed.
With a great effort, he forced his eyes to open and for a moment, before his vision fully cleared, he could not understand what he was seeing. All he could see were varying lights and darks. Were those rafters? Yes, they were, he was in a house.
Pain exploded in his head but he forced himself to move, to move his head to the right to see what was laying on him and maybe find out what happened to Diana.
Blinking to further clear his vision, it took several moments to make himself believe what he was seeing and when he did, his breath arrested painfully in his battered chest.
It was Diana, her midnight-black hair and cream-white skin gently draped over his highly contrasting green body. She was sound asleep, obviously oblivious to where she was sleeping and what affect this was having on him, it tore at him that it was so, that his feelings were to always be kept shut and secretive. If only things could be different.
Was she well? What injuries had she taken on in what should have been his solitary battle?
On the outside, there did not appear to be any major wounds but there were bruises and a cut on her forehead that looked to be scabbed over well but was disquieting in his eyes all the same. He did not like seeing her hurt even marginally. Whatever more serious injuries she had obtained, if there were any, remained unknown to him, too weak to look deeper in his current condition.
He berated himself for allowing her to accompany him on this journey. Her life was put at too great a risk by that decision, the life he should have done everything in his abilities to keep safe. She could have been killed. If such a thing had occurred, he would have never forgiven himself. He should never be forgiven.
There were a thousand thoughts running through his mind as he lay there sinking deeper into another sleep. Why had she lain next to him?
At that moment, he was too weak and exhausted to seek an answer; he merely accepted it and covered her small hand with his own.
End 9.
This was pretty much fluff, pure and simple. Not to worry, 10 will have more meat to it and not be so fluffy. I hope you enjoyed this short intermission.