As the sun peeked over the skyscrapers of Gotham it came to rest on the mansion on its outskirts, stately Wayne Manor. Its inhabitants inside barely noticed, having been up so late, sleeping in a similar manner, until it was almost ten.
Bruce Wayne rolled over in his bed, stretching out before he was fully awake, yawning as he finally brought himself to open his eyes. He felt energized. Sleep was such a rarity for him (working by day and night as he did) that whenever he did sleep, his body seemed determined to take advantage of it, and he awoke always feeling like a million bucks. He stretched out his sore arms...
... and nearly jumped in shock when he felt them brush against something warm.
Bruce almost sprang clean out of bed as he glanced over to the opposite side of the bed he was in. There, lying buried under the covers, facing away from him... no... it couldn't be. It was a dark-haired woman, wearing nothing, sharing his bed. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on her bare shoulder, to turn her over and confirm her identity.
It was... Diana of Themyscira, fast asleep and completely naked... in -his- bed!
Normally the thought would've given Bruce an almost smug sense of accomplishment, but right now he felt something else. Panic and confusion. Hastily he wracked his brain for the events of last night. They'd parted company with some harsh words, headed to opposite ends of the mansion. He'd fallen asleep in his bed... and then... had anything else happened? He thought back... he didn't think so... but he couldn't be positive.
No, he was positive. Something was very wrong. His mind told him he'd fallen asleep alone, and he was too light a sleeper to be unaware of her joining him, particularly in her given state of dress. Yet, there she was. His senses and his logic weren't meeting. Point A was jumping to C without going through B.
Something was wrong.
Bruce slipped out of the bed, holding the covers in past as he grabbed his jeans and slid them on to cover himself. At least until he had a better sense of what had happened.
"Diana?" he said, grabbing her shoulder again and giving a gentle shake. "Diana wake up... Diana?"
"Mmmm," she murmured, opening her eyes and stretching like a lazy cat, giving only a minor start when she opened her eyes completely and spotted him, bare-chested, standing before her bed. "Bruce? What's wrong?"
"I was about to ask the same question," he replied, arms folded across his chest. "What're you doing here?"
"What, am I no longer welcome in your house?" she replied, still angry about the previous night.
"Not in my house, but in my bed maybe," he elaborated. "Without a decent explanation, at least."
"What're you talking about this is my..." she started to protest, but stopped as she looked down. This wasn't her bed. The bed in the guest room had sheets of a blue color, this one was plain white. As with all things in the life of Bruce Wayne, things were kept simple and designed to serve their purpose. His imagination and creativity went into the creation of bat-shaped batarangs and homing devices and costumes.
"... I... I don't know how I got here," she replied uncertainly. Feeling a chill, she drew the covers up closer, covering herself as she sat up.
"Nor do I remember you coming here," said Bruce. "Something's wrong."
"I left my things back in the guest room," said Diana. "Including my uniform and lasso."
Bruce nodded, opening the nearby closet to find her something to wear for the moment. Wouldn't do to have Diana waltz about his mansion in her birthday suit. But as he opened the closet, he received his second shock for the day.
His clothes were there, of course, as he'd left them. All business suits and casual clothes and whatever he'd need to face the day. But that was only half the closet now. On the other half... women's dresses. And though Bruce was not a fashion expect, he would've bet his last dollar that they were Wonder Woman's size. Grabbing one at random, a blue number that looked like casual wear, he tossed it over towards her. She caught it in surprise.
"What...?"
"Get dressed... something very odd is going on," he replied, sliding on a shirt and resisting the urge to turn around. Rogue that Bruce Wayne was, at the core he was a gentleman. He wouldn't peek, especially not under the circumstances. Things were starting to become weird. He heard the rustling of silk and knew Diana was dressing behind him. She too seemed nervous and confused, and that made two of them. Three, if something peculiar had happened to J'onn.
Once dressed, Diana and Bruce made their way out of the Master bedroom and down the hall, heading down to the grandfather clock that was the secret entrance to the Batcave. However, that morning he'd seen two impossible things. Now, with no hidden switch to open the secret entrance to the Batcave, Bruce was up to three. Unlike Alice, he didn't try to believe three impossible things before breakfast. He intended to solve them. Angrily, he shoved aside the fake grandfather clock, smashing it hard against the ground and making Diana jump in surprise. Behind it was wall, unmarked and smooth. He ran his hand against it. It was real. There was nothing behind it. No batcave.
"Is... is there a problem, Master Bruce?" came a voice from down the hall. Bruce turned... Alfred was standing there, looking surprised. Bruce glanced at the broken clock... he supposed he was over-reacting a little. But something was wrong. He was having an almost eerie sense of déjà vu. And he couldn't quite say why.
"Alfred... where's the cave?" he asked. Again, that eerie feeling.
"Cave sir?" Alfred replied.
"You know, the one behind here," he said, tapping the wall. He was starting to get angry. What was up with Alfred? Why was he acting so weird?
"I'm afraid I don't understand sir," he said. "Nonetheless breakfast is ready, if you and Mrs. Wayne are feeling up to it."
"Mrs. Wayne?" asked Bruce. Shock, confusion, surprise, there wasn't a single word that could describe what he felt at that moment.
Slowly, he followed Alfred's gaze, turning to look over his shoulder...
... to see Diana, looking just as startled as he.
"Mrs. Wayne?" she said, when she found her voice.
Clark Kent slipped out of bed at seven am. Even out here in Metropolis, he remained at heart a Smallvillian. He rose with the sun, just like his adopted parents were probably doing back home at the Kent farm. Kara wouldn't be though. She hated getting up anytime that ended with 'am.'
Finishing a makeshift breakfast and cleaning himself up a bit, he reached under his bed for a hidden box that contained his costume. Since he always wore it except when he was home, he felt pretty safe leaving it there. Especially since no one ever dropped by to visit. So it was he pulled out the box, opened it, and found...
... nothing. It was empty.
Clark frowned, shaking the box as if expecting his costume to emerge... but nothing. It was gone.
"Hmmmm... wonder where it went?" he thought. He glanced over at the wall, into the next room. Maybe he took it off and left it in the washing machine. He stared at the wall, squinting his eyes and concentrating to activate his X-Ray vision, expecting the wall to vanish before his eyes and reveal the mysteries beyond.
But it didn't. It remained solid, and didn't matter how much he squinted his eyes. That's when he noticed something else peculiar.
He couldn't hear anything.
Normally when he woke up he could hear the cars down below, thirties stories down, people going to work, talking and such, though he usually tuned it out unless he heard explosions, cries for help, or someone speaking a few key names he'd come to identify as trouble (his own among that number, actually). But he couldn't hear anything except the fan running above his head. Frowning, he reached down to test a theory of his, grabbing the side of his bed.
Pull though he might, he couldn't lift it.
Quickly he rushed to the window, noting absent-mindedly that it was a jogging speed any human was capable of, not the faster-than-a-speeding bullet rush he'd tried. But as he peered out at the balcony he saw the sun rising. It was bright yellow, like it always was. Not red sunlight then. And not kryptonite either. The stuff, even in tiny proportions, made him feel downright sick, it didn't simply strip him of his powers. He would've realized it, at least.
His costume was gone, his powers were gone, but the sun was still yellow. None of it made sense. But the Man of Steel had a sinking feeling in his gut something was wrong.
For the moment, there was nothing he could do, so he grabbed his blue business and slipped into it, grabbing his keys and headed to work. He owned a car but drove infrequently, mostly to avoid suspicion. How much easier it would be to fly to work... but he dare not even begin to test that power. If he failed he might wind up on the asphalt face-first. Nor was he particularly keen to see if he could still withstand a bullet to the chest.
An idea occurred to him, however, midway to work, and he reached for his cell phone, relieved to find that still in place. He dialed information, asking for Bruce Wayne's number. Maybe he would have some answers. He usually did.
"Honey, you're going to be late... its time to wake up..."
"Mfapoasdflk," replied John from beneath his pillow. He was having such a delightful dream. He wasn't quite awake yet. But when he did wake up, he snapped awake all at once. Someone was in his apartment with him, and he sat up quickly, looking about in surprise.
To further his shock, a petite asian girl was smiling down at him. She was very pretty, dressed in a bright green t-shirt and black sweat pants that emphasized her shapely form, with dark black hair that was cut short. Several stray locks flowed forward, nearly obscuring her ebon black eyes. She was very pretty, and also very familiar, but John had never seen her before in his life.
"Come on John we're gonna be late. Get yourself out of bed and let's get some breakfast in you," she said. And then John realized who it was. It wasn't just the tone of her voice, the inflection of her syllables. It was the pattern of her speech. Like she was a teacher dealing with a dimwitted student.
"Kat?" he asked, shocked out of his mind. Katmatui wasn't pale skinned, she had a distinct red-orangish hue. Most of her species were similar shades, including the rather unpleasant member of the race named Sinestro. This was Kat but she looked... human.
"Good guess," she said, smirking playfully. "Now come on, out of bed before I haul you out myself."
"But, wait... what...?" he managed to cough out, too confused to even know where to begin to ask questions. What was she doing in his apartment? And why was she human? And what work? Green Lantern assignment maybe...
He paused in his thoughts, his attention riveted to her hand. There was no power ring there. Instead around her aptly named ring finger was a golden band with a emerald set into the stone. And, as John glanced down at his own energy ring, he saw it too was gone. He had an exact duplicate of her ring on his finger, though of a less feminine variety.
They were wedding rings.
Shayera was awake and alive.
And in an excruciating large amount of pain.
Her head throbbed, her stomach rolled, and for a moment she feared she was going to be sick and pass out. Not necessarily in that order. Thankfully, the feeling of nausea passed as she rolled onto her back. How much had she drank last night anyway? Easily enough to drown a bull elephant, she imagined. Thanagarians stomachs were cast-iron but they weren't invulnerable.
Groaning, she rolled onto her stomach to try and push herself up to her hands and knees, trying to regain her feet so she could stumble out of the bar. It was what most patrons did after a wild night of drinking and fighting. To her surprise, once she opened her eyes, she found she wasn't in the bar.
Or even still on the third moon of Gaultos.
She was on Earth. She recognized the yellow sunlight, even as it pierced the back of her eyes and sent fresh waves of agony throughout her throbbing head. She dropped back down to her knees, clutching at her temples as if expecting her skull to split open.
She was in an alleyway. It stank horrible of human refuse and debris, thick in the air. She shivered, clutching her coat...
Coat...?
She blinked, peering down at herself in confusion. Gone was her costume. She'd worn it away from Earth, departing in the only thing she'd ever truly owned herself, wanting not sympathy from the rest of the League, and certainly not their pity. She'd given back her things, taking only her costume and the purloined energy mace she'd taken from the command ship to replace her own. But now none of them were present.
Instead she was dressed in a yellow coat, torn and frayed along the edges, patched up here and there as if done by someone with poor sewing skills. Her jeans were much the same way. A backpack was slung over her shoulder, and as she peered inside she saw similar jackets, shirts and jeans, all threadbare and tattered. Frowning, she pushed herself upright... and nearly fell flat on her butt as she stumbled backwards. She'd lost her balance. She tried to compensate by spreading her wings...
... and landed flat on her bottom, wincing painfully. Why hadn't...?
And then she realized something truly terrifying. Her hands slid around to her shoulder-blades, where her hawk wings met her back. But there was nothing there, only the coat. She slid her hands underneath it, searching, denying what she felt. But all that was there was smooth, unmarked skin.
No wings.
Thanagarians were born with wings at birth. They were as much a part of her as a human's arm or leg, and to suddenly wake up and find them gone... well, no one can blame Shayera for panicking as she did. She was on the verge of screaming before she bit it back into her throat. No one was going to help her now, she'd deal with this like she'd dealt with everything for the past five years. On her own.
Shrugging the backpack and spreading her legs to widen her stance for balance, she set off to find out where she was on Earth, and what had happened to her. The cool air brushed against her bare features, but she had no mask, and she shivered lightly. She'd never felt so vulnerable before. So... exposed.
His alarm was set to go off at precisely seven fifty-eight. Two full minutes before work started down at the chemistry labs. Usually it would be cake for the Fastest Man Alive to shower, eat breakfast, dress and run all of thirty miles on foot to arrive at his job on time, if not early. When he went supersonic he could even be unnoticeable to the human eye except as a blur of light and sound. And maybe a gust of wind.
But today, it took him almost five whole minutes... just to find his clothes.
Wally was jogging to work now, out of breath and more than a little worried, still over twenty miles away and almost twenty minutes late. His hair was a mess and he hadn't even had breakfast yet. He'd never been late to work on time. Admittedly, it was the one shining point in his job. He wasn't very good, he tended to goof off and joke with his boss, who threatened on a near-constant basis to fire him and get someone more level-headed for dealing with volatile chemicals. Wally was sure his supervisor was going to kill him this time.
And so he ran as fast as he could.
Which didn't even stir up a breeze.
Martians do not dream.
But if they did, J'onn would be firmly convinced he was experiencing a nightmare.
He was in a single small room the walls covered in a white padding of sorts, including the door. The window was high up, out of reach, and barred from the inside and out. The door was locked, but J'onn couldn't even reach it, his hands were strapped firmly behind his back in some sort of white, backwards jacket and firmly strapped into place. His legs were relatively free, in gray slacks, and his feet were bare... and when he'd seen them for the first time since he'd awoken, he had been, to say the least, shocked.
Human feet. Five perfect digits, pink skin, perfect in design. Yet he had no memory of assuming such a shape. Ever, now that he thought more about it. His shapeshifting usually included the clothes of those he impersonated, and it was easier to shapeshift shoes or boots than the actual feet beneath them. His own feet should have been slightly larger, green, two-toed. But they weren't.
And more shocking... he couldn't resume his form. Not his natural Martian form, nor his Martian-human hybrid he now wore so naturally since joining the Justice League.
He was confused, and understandably scared. He'd pushed himself to his feet, rushed at the door, shouted for help. No one had come. He'd slammed his shoulder against the door, against the wall, but the padding absorbed his feeble efforts. Even his strength was beyond him. He tried to phase out of his constricting garments and escape... but he could not do that either. He could do nothing.
And worse... he could hear nothing.
Since he'd opened his thoughts to the human race, J'onn could almost instinctively hear human thoughts, even as half-whispers in the wind, from those he passed by. Surface thoughts they did not guard overly well. Not that he usually pried into their minds without permission or great need. But now... all was silent. It was like being back on Mars, where the only thoughts heard were those 'spoken' between Martians, where inner thoughts were hidden and unable to be reached by the Martians, who could not and would not use their telepathy upon one another.
Suddenly, the door opened, and he scooted back into the corner of the room fearfully.
A human woman entered the room, carrying a clipboard and dressed in a business suit. She seemed barely out of adolescence, perhaps the age of Supergirl, whom J'onn had met at Superman's 'funeral.' This girl too had blonde hair and a most startling pair of blue eyes that twinkled oddly. She tapped her clipboard, smiling down at J'onn with a big smile even he (with his minimal knowledge of human expressions) recognized as fake.
"Good morning, Mr. Jones. I'm Doctor Quinn, your psychiatrist. So now tell me," she said, producing a pen and clicking the bottom to let the tip slide out, making a note on her clipboard. "They say you think you're an alien. Why don't you tell me all about it...?"
Author's Notes:
And so it begins. A Justice League of Super Heroes... without super powers. How will they cope, how will they manage without them? You will soon find out. Batman and Diana... Mr. and Mrs. Wayne? I couldn't resist... those two make such a cute couple, and you all know they like each other. Even if, in my story, its going to be a little awkward and at times a little downright painful. Cape under the bed? Honestly, where does Clark hide that costume of his? My guess is as good as any. And red sunlight does strip away his powers but only after long periods of exposure (its more the lack of yellow sunlight, really). Kryptonite isn't nearly as painless at doing it though. John's marriage to Kat is a subtle nod to their comic incarnations, who were indeed married. But why is she human you ask? Oh you won't find out for some time, but you're welcome to make any number of guesses. Maybe the same reason J'onn and Shayera are human. Maybe. The idea that Wally West works as a chemist is based on the dream-sequence from 'Brave and the Bold' which shows how he obtained his powers (unlike his comic counterpart, who tapped into the Speedforce or whatever like the old Flashes before him). Superman's funeral was of course from the episode 'Hereafter' where Kara can be seen with the Kents as part of the mourners. J'onn's psychiatrist, or at least her last name, should get some eyebrows raised. Come on now, you know who it is. If not the jokes on you... evil, high-pitched laughter.
Knight's Shadow: More to come soon enough, fret ye not.
Angelic Temptress: Thank you, you're too kind. Of course I included Hawkgirl. She's been a vital part of the team for two whole seasons, you don't just forget about someone like that. And even after the events of 'Starcrossed' I'm firmly convinced some day she'll come back to the League someday.
Tec: Just you wait and see. I have indeed got places to go with my idea, I just hope everyone enjoys the ride.
ViciousAssassin: Well glad to see I haven't lost my old fanbase. Hope you enjoy what comes next. Keep it short, why? My favorite reviews were always the longest and most detailed, and I always looked forward to them. Ah well.
Deadhead89: Oh you'll see what happens next. The question I'm worried about is whether or not you'll enjoy it! Muwahahaha.
Jigsaws231: Two things I always strive for in my fanfictions. Accurate character portrayal, and continuity. Glad I am to see that I'm doing a good job. Thanks for the review.
Comet-hime: What, no trumpets? Hehehe, thanks for the welcome. I know you don't write in this one but you do still draw for it, so maybe I can continue to inspire you, and vise versa, as we always have. Glad you enjoyed all the characters, as well as my plan to get Shayera plastered on Gaultos. I'd originally planned to do it somewhere on Earth before I remembered her Christmas celebration. Now I only hope nobody asks me how she got off planet without a ship or energy ring.
Star-of-Chaos: You're thinking of 'Maid of Honor.' Don't worry though, I usually write my stories in a manner that you don't -need- to see the series to understand/enjoy them. It just helps you appreciate them more. Hope you enjoy what's to come.
Crhblack: All reasonable speed has been slowed down this summer, but I'll do the quickest job I can. Glad you enjoyed the characterizations and the set-up. More of that to come as the plot gets into full swing.
Qk: Nothing wrong with having favorites in the League. Me? Superman and Green Lantern, but I love 'em all just the same. You'll see plenty of Flash to come, fret ye not. Just don't expect him in top form. Mostly because humor isn't my forte. Oh, and tell Eriso I hope they're enjoying this too.