Young Justice

A Fiery Passion

Chapter two: Batman's Persistence

On a typical day, I usually wake up with a good start and then it goes south rather quickly. This usually happens after seeing my mom, who proudly carries her hater stick around and then beats the happiness out of me. Emotionally and mentally of course. Quite frankly, it ruins my day.

As I try to focus on waking up, I disregard my pounding head and I really wish my mom was here right now to tell me to pull it together. I can hear a low hum of on old tune and a rustle of a leafy newspaper. I force my eyes to open: despite the tiredness of my body, it scares me that I have no idea where I am or who I am with in the same room.

I blink my eyes open to adjust to the bright light of the space I am in. In all actuality, it is very difficult to even stand the light at all, let alone impossible to accidentally drift back to sleep with it on. I focus on the railing of the bed to relieve my headache from the double vision that is keeping me from pondering the questions that run in circles in my mind.

Once I can see objects clearly, I'm just about ready to cry… again. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I can't. Even though I've found myself in a hospital room, my body tucked in neatly underneath a thin layer of a bleached sheet, reality is setting in.

My arms are both wrapped in light brown gauze from my finger tips up to my elbows. They lie on either side of me, palms facing upward. I wince when I try to move my fingers. The pain screams at me in resistance to any movement. I take a deep breath and look around the room, trying to see what I can without moving too much.

To my left, there is a series of machines and tubes that are connected to me in various medical like places. I wince when I realize that there is a monitor showing my heart rate and another for an IV. I turn my head to the right soon afterward to the sound of a newspaper page being turned.

"Hello?" I croak, my voice weak and crackly. I haven't drunk any water in what feels like forever ago. How long was I out? Am I even in my home town Valley Falls? Where is Mom?

"I'm here," a gruff voice answers from behind the newspaper. I immediately stiffen as I watch the paper being put back together and folded, revealing the man behind it.

Freaking-A Batman.

I stare at him through the bars of the hospital bed, eyes wide, shaking my head. I can feel my stomach drop a thousand feet, and for once in a long while, I feel like I've gone cold.

Batman is sitting directly across from me, not even a few feet away. His dark bat mask covers the top half of his head and face, though that does not stop the look of relief that reveals itself by the twitch of his jaw.

And for a moment, I almost think I see him smile, a smile that I thought would always be reserved for my mom.

Speaking of which, why isn't she here? Shouldn't she be here? Worried about me? Wondering where I am? Telling me that I would get better, telling me that she loves me more than her job as she holds my hand? Why wasn't she here telling she didn't like to see me like this?

Did a busy superhero (who doesn't even know me) worry about me more than my own ever-busy mother?

My head rolls back into the lumpy pillow as I try to cough back the flood of tears at the thought that mom doesn't care to know where I am. Blinking my eyes, I stop the dam from breaking, but naturally a few tears squeeze through my defenses. Using my gauzed hand, I wipe the tears away as another donkey cough escapes me.

Batman raises an eyebrow as he places his paper on the bedside table that his elbow is resting on. He straightens his caped back and looks at me grimly. Even though I recognize who he is, I am still unnerved by the fact that Batman, the head of the Justice League, is sitting beside my bed waiting for me to wake up. And for a slight, brief moment I almost feel cared about.

"W-why are you here?" I ask him, my voice breaking on me from the sudden emotions flooding in. I know I can't let Batman, of all heroes, to see me breakdown while I am already hospitalized. But it is already to late. It is bad enough that I don't know the full extent of the damage to my arms. I have feeling in them, that much I know. But so many questions are bouncing around in my head I can't focus. I shift my head to face the ceiling, dreading the answer to my question. Am I in trouble? Maybe my mom is dead? Am I part of a mystery that the World's Greatest Detective needed my help solving? I shake my head at the thought, instantly pushing it away. I couldn't detect a breakup from a mile away.

Batman has Robin of course. He doesn't need two side-kicks.

"To inform you on the situation you are in," he responded, his voice calm, steady, and deep. It reminds me of a leaders' voice. He continues, "Do you know why you're here, in Happy Harbor's hospital?"

I shake my head no, closing my eyes. I don't want to know why I'm in a hospital in the next city over from Valley Falls. "I caught myself on fire somehow," I mumble, embarrassed, confused. "I remember being really, angry and hurt. And then poof," I lift my arms up from the bed, "these puppies are on fire like a bonfire gone bad." Despite the fact that I don't want to really know how my health has been traumatized by fire, I proceed to tell him the story of my day yesterday. Batman does not interrupt me, and that alone makes me feel as if I have some validation. And even though I have the urge to bawl my eyes out again as I retell the events, I don't, despite those sneaky tears. I smile grimly to myself, somewhat proud. Maybe I'm not that pathetic after all.

Batman nods his head at the end of my tale, his mouth positioned into a serious line. "Your yesterday was Wednesday: Today is Friday," he informs me. My eyes widen: I can't believe I've been unconscious for so long, three days. Three days I've been sleeping. Three days that mom hasn't been worried about me.

I cough back tears again.

"You spontaneously combusted while you were in school in a reaction fueled by your anger and depression," he added, making a gesture to my wrapped arms, unwavering. I shiver at the thought: Am I really depressed and that angry? "Your metagene was activated between hormones and your emotional and mental state."

I swallow, ignoring the pain that is shooting up my arms, "What is a metagene? Shouldn't I be dead if I combusted?" I ask him softly, barely a whisper. I don't even want to know how he knows about me.

"I'll get into that later, that's why I'm here," Batman answers, placing his black gloved hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezing it. He is offering me comfort. The Dark Knight, showing kindness towards me? I just about pee myself from the shock. Offering a small smile in return, Batman adds, "You're special Rhyleigh, and don't let anyone think otherwise."

"Well, I don't know," I say with a shrug, now looking at him again. Me and special, in the same sentence, makes me just about laugh.

That Dark Knight of Gotham City looks down on me in a hard glare. "Rhyleigh, a metagene is something that only a few select people have. It's part of your individual biological make-up. Yours was… activated. With some training and control you can have the opportunity to become a hero."

I blink my eyes, trying to figure out all this meta whatever and hero thing. I laugh, shaking my head. "Please, Batman, don't make me look like an imbecile. I don't have powers or any meta stuff. I can't, first of all. And second, well, look at me!" I gesture to my body with one of my wrapped arms. "I'm sort of hospitalized for who knows how long. And I have no training. I'm not even good at dodgeball, for crying out loud! How can you expect me to be some sort of hero when I can't even stop being an emotional wreck?"

The grim line on Batman's face fades into a formation that is supposed to resemble a smile. "Then one of the best will train you until you are ready to go on missions."

I shake my head, again, disbelieving the words that Batman is saying, to me. "Yeah, because I can totally take down a four-hundred-pound monster-thing who is robbing a bank all by myself," I say sarcastically, rolling my dark green eyes.

"You will have a team that will help you grow into the hero that I believe you can be," Batman persists. "It's a great team of kids your age, teenagers, so far, roughly your age, who are trained to do things that you will be able to do as well."

Why is he speaking to me as if I can fight close combat when I can't even land a punch at all? There is no way that one of the League members actually thinks that I have the potential to be something I'm not, or that I will grow into something I can never be.

I shake my head again, listening to the heart monitor beeping at us casually, and frown. "What could I possibly do to add an advantage with this team?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow as I stare at him. "More than likely I'll be the tag-along sister whom nobody wants."

"The Justice League was founded by seven members: Having seven Young Justice members, there is a symmetrical balance that is needed. It won't hurt a thing," Batman responds, clearly amused that I am asking such questions.

I ponder the thought for a moment before considering the other options I have. If I join this team Batman's told me about, I can be stronger physically and emotionally. I can even meet decent people that might be friends! I can learn to control this odd and painful power I have, even if I am sure that it doesn't exist.

But… If I do not join, I will go back to school, and people will be curious to know what happened to me. They will ask questions, and I will most likely be so emotionally unstable that I'll blow up again, literally. And repeat this situation all over again. With the exception of the big guy himself not being here.

Whatever. This has to be better than being at home, having mom tell me to be better. Now she won't know that I've gone, training to be something that neither of us thought I would become in a million years.

I smile slowly, still unsure with my decision. "Well, I suppose I could… do this. I mean, if I work hard enough…and if I put in enough effort..." I don't make eye contact with Batman, but I know he is pleased to hear my acceptance to whatever he is offering.

The Dark Knight stands up from his chair, towering over me, and the line on his face curves into a small smile. "Welcome to Young Justice," he said. Although his voice is deep, there is a sense of joy, I suppose, that is radiating from him. "Your official acknowledgement as a member of the team will be tomorrow. Until then, get some rest." He then turns his back and heads for the door.

"Wait! Batman, I have a question," I say, using my elbows to prop myself up. I ignore the pain that shoots up through my arms and continue on until I am fully upright. Batman stops and looks over his shoulder, and the smile on my face grows. "What about school and my mom? Will the burning sensations stop? And…"

Batman turns fully to me. "This will be explained to you tomorrow morning, it's late. Until then, get some rest," he repeated, and with that he turns out the light, opens the door and leaves me to wonder about the impossible in the dark. When the door to my room clicks shut, I lie back down on my pillows, suddenly feeling exhausted from just sitting up.

"Maybe you're not that pathetic after all, Rhyleigh," I tell myself softly as I waited for sleep to overcome me with glee and satisfaction.

I hold onto the words that Batman said as I slowly fell back asleep, hoping, praying, that the equal leader of the Justice League was correct. I may be special to some others, but… I'm still Rhyleigh Wainright, and I have no idea what kept me together as I spontaneously combusted. And how was this stupid metagene supposed to help if it just burns me in return? And how was I supposed to control it anyways?

The thoughts run through my mind, circling around and around until my frustration with all the questions without answers lingers. A nurse knocks on my door, she turns on the light. A soft smile graces her face.

"I'm so sorry it's late Miss, but I'm here to change your bandages and I have dinner if you're up for it?"

I nod in acceptance as I realize at just how hungry I've become, I don't even care about my wounds needing to be cleaned and changed.

The nurse does as she said she would. Within moments my bandages were removed. She cleaned both of my arms before dressing them again. This time with a lighter cloth.

"Your healing has radically improved. Are you still in pain?" the nurse asks, as she examines my arms. I shake my head no as I also look over the changed bandages. My arms and hands don't ache as much, and they certainly don't have any heat to them. At least for now.

"You were quite the sight," she says, getting up and straightening her shirt. "I'll be back with dinner in just a moment."

When she returns, she sets me up with my plate of a delicious hospital meal. She breaks the silence and tells me when I was first brought in, the damage was so bad that they thought I would lose the feeling in both of my arms and that I would have burn scars for life. Clearly not, I think to myself as I had watched her smear burn ointment on my arms. She leaves after a while, letting me stew in my pondering silence.

After I finished my dinner, the same nurse returns. She cleans up my empty plates and jokes about how hungry I was. I smile politely. But we both know I really was starving and didn't care about the quality of the mac and cheese.

She removes some of the wiring that was attached to my body, so I could shower, and she could change my sheets.

In the bathroom adjoined to my hospital suite I stare into my reflection in silence. I look back into my own eyes desperately trying to understand what they see in return, so I can understand this change that my life is going to take. Metagene or not. I'm still me. I'm still great at art. I'm still incredibly studious. I still trip when I walk, and I still cry. The only thing that this metagene has offered me is a nearly week-long stay at the hospital and some fire powers that I still don't quite understand.

With a heavy sigh, I undress, cover my bandages in plastic and shower reluctantly.

Later that night as I lay in the newly changed bed with new pillows and a weighted blanket, I count backwards from hundred to about fifty-four until a dreamless sleep overcomes me.

Something pokes my lower left leg, repeatedly. I frown at the interruption of a dream, I was so close to reaching dad. "Go 'way," I mumble, my words slurred from the heavy sleep. The prodding continues.

"Blair, wake-up. It's time to go, now," orders a deep voice, a familiar one. My eyes flutter open to see Batman's tall, dark form standing by the edge my bed as he prodded my leg with one of his weapon-things.

"Five more minutes," I whimper, clamping my eyes shut as I roll over onto my side and slip my wrapped right arm under the pillow to keep my head level. "Please?"

"No. Get up." Batman's voice is so stern and almost scary that my eyes flash open and jump out of bed in reaction to it, flinging the sheets into the air in the process.

As I watch the last sheet land on the bed in a heap of a mess, I glance at Batman, who has narrowed his eyes at me while I struggle with the loose bandages. Is he regretting his decision to let me be part of this Young Justice? Or simply sizing me up to the others?

"You're lucky that I had the nurse release the IV from your arm," Batman says, his voice rough. I roll my eyes, wishing I could fold my arms over my chest. "Here, this is your back pack: It has a pair of clothes and a few of your personal belongings," Batman states as he bends down to pick up my school pack from the floor beside the bed. "Go change," he instructs as I walk around the bed to receive my backpack.

I stand in shock after I realized what his words imply. "You went into my house?" I ask him, disbelieving that he would actually do that. "Was my mom there? What did she say?" The questions shoot of my mouth like angry bullets before I realize that he wasn't the one who grabbed my belongings.

"It was your team members, Artemis and Megan: They were able to collect a few things for you," Batman answers me, his tone remaining surprisingly calm. I blink my eyes, remembering that I had a team that I can depend on, even if we've never met. My face flushes, embarrassment sinking in. "They also did not report of anybody else to be in the house at the time they were there."

"Oh... Okay, I'll have to thank them. To wherever we're going," I say, upset with myself for my reaction. I offer my arm so that Batman can slip the backpack strap onto my shoulder: I don't want to use my hands. He does so, carefully so as to not touch the gauze, and it strikes something in my heart. It's something that my dad had done when I broke my arm from jumping off my bed when I was younger.