stands_for_hope | The Not Quite Justice League in... The Bee's Pleas!!!

"Me, too," he admitted, "but... not laughing at you. I promise."

A light little kiss of his own and he murmured, "I just realised that the people I want to curl up around and protect are pretty much invulnerable." His forehead nudged against Sandy's. "Good thing I don't have male pride, right?"

"Then I'm glad I can at least be one load off your mind," Sandy said before kissing his cheek almost playfully.

"Mm... I'll still want to protect you from everything," he promised, turning his head to catch that kiss. "It's what I'm best at. Taking it so nobody else has to."

He'd always been tough enough. Tougher than anybody else he knew. He was used to shrugging off injuries, carrying more than his weight. He wasn't sure what to do if he didn't have to be a wall.

"You've already proven you can protect me from the thing that hurts me most of all," he told him, the honesty of his words proven in his eyes. That was part of it, a huge part of it. Mike made the weight of his mantel seem like something he could carry, but also something he could put aside at times. Mike had reminded him that he was more than just Sand, more than just sand, more than just the next Sandman and the JSA's recon man.

Mike reminded him that even though he was silicon, he was also human.

He lifted his hand to Sandy's cheek, stroking softly - enjoying being able to - as he looked into his eyes. "Now that's a hell of a thing. And I'm so damn glad I can do that."

Sand swallowed, almost looking away from that gaze, from that tenderness, before he breathed in and managed to look back. He wanted to kiss him, but another part of him wanted to tell him--

He wanted to tell him. The one thing he'd never told anyone, the secret he'd guarded close to his heart for ten years, for seventy years. He wanted to tell him because if there was anything that he needed protection from, it was that.

He'd held the secret for so long that it felt impossible, though. Some part of him fought the urge, reminded him that Wesley was dead, that Dian was dead. The years had passed, the Velvet Cage was a thing of the past, it shouldn't matter, but the dishonesty, the lie...

Holding onto it, keeping the full truth of it, it felt like a part of him was still there. Because he didn't want to tarnish Wesley's legacy. Because he owed it to his aunt.

But didn't he owe himself too? Didn't he owe himself the honesty of the truth, of someone else knowing what he'd really been through?

"I want--"

But this was too soon, too much to ask of a man he'd known a day, wasn't it? Or was that just his mind trying to make up excuses? It was hard to tell, so hard; duty and the greater good had been his driving forces since he'd been a child, since he'd worked out day and night to be a worthy protege to the Sandman. It was instinct as much as habit at this point.

What if he didn't understand? What if he didn't comprehend the meaning of it, what it meant, what he'd gone through? What if he did?

So much comfort and he still wanted more and he wasn't sure if this was moving on, doing things he should do as even Wesley's spirit had urged him to do or simple foolishness.

But Mike wanted to protect him. Mike wanted to protect him, and that meant showing the only wound he couldn't heal. At least, he hoped so.

"I want to tell you something. Something I've never... never told to anyone, not even my closest friends. If... if you want to hear it."

He listened. He watched. He saw the battle going on in Sandy's eyes and the thoughts behind them, and to him, it looked... familiar. The smile he gave was small. Warm. Not happy, but sympathetic. He gently edged him over until they were laying facing each other again, and he could gather the other man against him with protective arms.

"I'll listen," Mike said quietly. "I'll listen to anything you want to tell me, and if you want me to keep it secret, it'll never see the light of day again. But it's your choice. If you want to tell me, I'll listen. If you don't, I'm not going to push. But... let me say this."

A light kiss to Sandy's lips and he murmured, "I'll tell you secret for secret. If you'll trust me that much, then I'll trust you just as much. Then I won't be holding anything over you. We'll be even."

And that, Mike felt, was the best way to do it. So nothing was imbalanced.

He was quiet for a moment, obviously figuring out how to say what he wanted to say, until--

"I told you that I was transformed. That I became a monster."

Sandy turned and looked at Mike.

"That's... not exactly true."

He leaned back, let his head rest on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was easier to look at. He could pretend he was alone, he was talking to himself, that he wasn't doing the one thing he'd sworn he'd never do.

"I was transformed and my form was made unstable, inhuman... but I was always me. The... it... I wasn't enraged. I was just in pain, but my mentor-- Wes. Wesley thought I was mad. A monster. A danger. But the rage was gone after a few minutes. He just didn't give me time to calm down before he locked me away."

That was the easy part, the part that most of his friends knew by now. This was the hard part.

"I said I was in stasis all those years but... I..." he swallowed again, "I wasn't."

His eyes closed, because just hearing it out loud... the guilt and shame and relief was palpable and mixed all in one in a confusing wave that left him mildly nauseous even though he knew that was purely psychological.

"My body was frozen, but my mind... my mind was in tact. I was... awake and aware the entire time, unable to move, unable to speak, just-- just staring." And now the words were coming, like a torrent, like a storm. He couldn't stop them if he tried and even he was surprised at the waver to his voice, the frustration and the anger and the pain that he hid every day. "Just staring every day when he'd come to visit me, when he'd hold his hand to the glass. Staring as I watched him age, staring as I watched him pile in old machines, old experiments, like I was... like I was just another failed experiment. And that was only when he was there, when the lights were on. The rest of it, so much of it, was darkness. That dark room, so... beautifully made up to hold someone, something he stopped thinking of as his protege years before.

"Alone, in the dark. Alone and awake and trapped in the Velvet Cage. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't rest, I couldn't-- just there. Unmoving. Inhuman.

"Forgotten."

He swallowed and turned to look Mike in the face.

"And, in a way, that's... not the worst part."

His teachers never thought he could pay attention in class. Not until he was in military school, anyway, but prior to that, every single report card had made a note about him 'not working up to potential' or 'acting up in class.'

He'd been a little shit. But he'd had reasons then. Now, he was rapt. Listening, paying silent attention to every word, and trying his best not to let that old rage grow. Someone who could do something like that to someone like Sandy... He wanted to plant his fist in their face. He wanted revenge, but he knew that now wasn't the time. Now, he needed to listen and accept and keep himself calm.

And he did. He forced his breathing to be even and his expression as gentle as he could make it while he nodded and waited for the whole story to come out. Because he knew one story like this. A story that was turning his blood to ice in his veins, for all it was a stark reminder that some people went through hell and came out better people, while others went through the same hell and came out monsters.

"What was it?" he asked quietly. Careful. Proving he listened, but opening the door for Sandy to say what he would.

"Seventy-something years," he says, quiet once again, "and I finally get my chance. I'm... it's no secret I've got a connection with the Earth. But something happened, an upsurge of energy. It broke through the shackles, let me get free, and I had to use-- I was still made of sand, but I managed to wrangle the energy to keep the city from shaking down around us.

"That's when I got to tell him that I was still me. That's when he realized--"

He shook his head and buried his face in Mike's shoulder for a moment, breathing low, in and out.

"...and practically... on the spot. So quick. So quick, he finds a solution to make me human again. So quick, so quick it was-- he forgot. He had to have. He fixed it so quickly after seventy fucking years--" and even he was amazed at the words that were coming out of him, foul language, those words about Wesley, his mentor.

"I couldn't even ask him. I couldn't ask him what'd taken him so long because he thought I'd been sleeping. He thought I'd been in stasis. I never got to ask him because it was keep it inside or break him, break my aunt-- they were both so old by then. I was terrified I'd give him a heart attack if I did, and they were so close, they loved each other-- she'd go right after."

He looked away.

"I left. I left, went off, watched... watched movies, television, traveled the world; I couldn't face him, couldn't face either of them. I could barely face my old friends, Wesley's friends, people who remembered me as Sandy the Golden Boy. Everything I'd lost and everything that was right there and all of it hurt; Wes and Aunt Dian, both of them so old, so frail, I couldn't even-- I couldn't bear to tell them.

"And then they died. I was off trying to figure out how the world worked and who I was now and Aunt Dian died, Wes died, and I couldn't-- they left me everything, everyone missed them, and I couldn't just... ruin it. I couldn't ruin their memory. So I couldn't tell anyone."

He sat up a little and looked at Mike.

"I've never told anyone. Until today. Until you."

Mike pulled Sandy into a tight hug, held him against him, anchored him. And he whispered, his voice rough, "You did what you had to. You cared for them. You loved them. You still do, so you... you kept a secret that would've broken them. I... I do the same thing every time I look at my father. Because he's a fucking ray of sunshine and if I told him the truth, he'd fracture, and I don't want anybody else to be broken like me."

A breath and he managed, after pulling back to look into Sandy's eyes, "I'm proud of you. So damn proud. Staying together through all that. And I'm glad he made it up to you, at least a little - at least a start. You... You are a hell of a person, Sanderson Hawkins, and I'm going to keep reminding you of that."

He looked up at Mike and kissed him, soft, sweet, quick before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"If you're broken, then so am I," he said quietly. "So if I'm amazing, then so are you."

"Then... then let me tell you," he murmured. "I think I already told you I have brain damage. It's from something that's called a TBI. Traumatic Brain Injury. I've got scars - my hair's long enough to hide them. Barely. But they came from..."

It hit like a wave, like it always did - but it was a wave he knew too damned well, so he was able to close his eyes and let it wash over him. The voice, the hand, that strange feeling that still tied itself around the very core of who he was and pulled...

"I..." Mike shook his head slowly. "I volunteered for it."

Sandy's hand reached up behind his head and ran lightly through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, nothing but care in his touch.

He didn't say anything, just nodded, listening, more than willing to listen.

"It's a long... Long-ass story." He tipped his head with Sandy's hand, using that touch, that feeling, to keep himself out of his memories. It was some kind of punishment, he was sure, that he was missing so much memory and the rest was too vivid.

"To make it short, my mom didn't want me. Intentionally raised me poor as dirt. I know why now, but it... doesn't really make up for it. I was bullied as a kid, so I learned to hit back instead of go whining to the teacher, and when I was eight, I was expelled, so Mom sent me to military school. When I was twelve, I stopped coming home for holidays and only came back in the summer because I had to."

His eyes traced Sandy's features while he talked, learning him, committing him to memory. Just in case.

"The only... bright spots, really, through all that, were my friend, and my crush, Sarah Graiman-" who was now his not-fiancee who hounded him "-and her father, Charles. Charles was a genius, and I don't mean just... saying that to be complimentary. He was seriously a genius, like Tony. Had a thousand little robots running around, could build anything anybody wanted. He was awesome. And by the time I graduated military school, he was working with the Army. So I went where he was, and he pulled me into this project. I..."

These were the memories that, in a way, hurt the worst. He slid his fingers into Sandy's hair to distract himself.

"I was still normal then. An angry kid, sure, but... normal. I loved Sarah. I loved Charles like he was my own dad. And I was a damn good soldier. I got into the Black Ops program without anybody so much as batting an eye. I was great at what I did. But then I met him."

His eyes squeezed shut.

"His name was Karr. Looked just like Kitt does now. My Kitt. Built specifically for the job - able to drive over anything, armoured against IEDs, all the tech you can imagine, and I loved him. I still remember that, anyway. I... was meant to merge with him." Mike swallowed. "And merging with him meant him stabbing two sets of three neural spikes into my brain through my skull. Those are the scars - three on each side, in kind of a triangle. I..."

Mike shook his head, now having to fight against the flashbacks, but he could, damn it. He could.

"I don't remember this part. I don't really remember meeting Karr, I don't remember most of the missions I went on with my unit. I don't remember proposing to Sarah, or hooking up with the Hispanic chick. I don't... remember Karr, really, except in flashes and moments and feelings. But I remember merging with him felt right. It felt good. And I remember..."

His voice choked for a moment. One moment. The memory of the emotion was that strong.

"I remember a US Army convoy, ripped to pieces and burning in the sand. Shreds of metal that used to be Hum-Vees and bodies with their blood just... pouring over the ground." Words started coming in a rush. "I remember looking over it and feeling like I'd won something, and Karr standing behind me, telling me that we had done what we'd needed to, and me agreeing, feeling so satisfied. And then... he's not there, and I'm screaming for him and fighting because I'm scared and angry and he's not there and he's supposed to be, he's supposed to protect me, and I'm being held down by six, eight guys, more faces than I know, and there's a needle being shoved into my neck and the syringe is full of this neon green syrupy stuff and then..." Shaking his head, he exhaled, this part of the story... slower. Easier. Less painful. More confusing. "Then I'm in Vegas. Getting off a bus outside the VA hospital. I got a job as a bouncer. Bought a house. Realised I couldn't feel anything... really nice anymore. Nothing made me happy or content. I didn't love anything anymore. I didn't even think about Sarah, or my mom. I just worked. Drank. Exhausted myself with sex and work because it was better than the nightmares I had when I didn't drop into bed worn out or drunk off my ass."

And then... Then his face was him again. That slightly cocky baseline that brushed off everything. Water off a duck's back. "My emotions still don't work right. To me, everything goes to either anger or lust. Or confusion - I'm really good at confusion. But my first reaction to something is always to either kill it or fuck it, and I go to confusion when something doesn't fit in one of those two things. The closest I've felt to happiness is..."

He shrugged. Brushed his fingers along Sandy's cheek. "Is when I'm with you or Kitt. That feels like I remember happiness being like."

Sandy listened... and his own anger built as Mike continued.

The first part was unfortunate but all too common; he'd had his own troubles once upon a time, and the death of his own father... there was a reason he'd attached himself to his Aunt Dian and Wesley Dodds.

As Mike kept going, though...

This Karr reminded him of nothing so much as Magog, a face he still remembered despite the years and the distance from the event. The god-like being had almost torn the JSA apart, and all of them were experienced superheroes who were no strangers to being manipulated, to having their hearts and minds toyed with. To face that kind of seductive, mind-altering creature on your own, alone, in need of someone, anyone, who would treat you like you deserved any kind of happiness--

He'd never forget those nights of blissful, nightmare-free slumber. But he'd never regret giving it up, not for what it'd almost cost them.

Sandy turned his head and kissed the hand that had been touching him before looking up at Mike.

"I guess, then, I'll just... have to keep on reminding you. What happiness is like."

"Mmh..." He gathered Sandy close again, curling around him just a little to murmur, "That's part of what amazes me about you. 'Cause... 'Cause Karr was locked up like you. Awake, but not able to tell anyone, but he ended up..."

Twisted. Warped. Willing to twist and warp anyone he came in contact with, and break them to be his, the way Mike had been.

"And you... You're so different."

"I was lucky. Wes made a mistake, but overall, he was a very good man," Sandy explained. He leaned into the embrace, happy to allow Mike to hold him.

"The people who made Karr were good people. I... just think that you were so different from Karr going in..." And here was the difference. He smiled, gave him a gentle squeeze. "Just proof, I guess, that I'll always get along better with silicon than with carbon."

"I wanted to be a hero from as soon as I was old enough to think about it," he admitted, leaning back against Mike, tipping his head up to smile at him. "I worked like a loon, exercising and boxing, learning all kinds of information so I could be helpful. I was... well, I was the first kid sidekick. And, for the longest time, the last."

He tipped his head to nuzzle a little against Mike.

"I guess I always wanted to make things better for people. It started that simple and... it's kind of stayed that simple, for me at least."

"Mm... And here, all I ever really wanted was to survive," he sighed, kissing the corner of Sandy's smile. "That's as far as my thoughts ever went. Survival."

And then, with a laugh, he shook his head. "That makes me sound so pathetic. Like I grew up in some war-torn country, afraid of bombs falling on my head..."

Sandy reached up and stroked his cheek with one hand.

"There's a lot of ways to make a home unsafe for a child," he said, running his thumb across Mike's cheekbone. "And unsafe is unsafe. The fact that you made it... I'm grateful. And proud."

"Worst part?" He laughed weakly. "Right when it was looking like she and I could actually... reconcile a little? Some guys shot her right in front of me."

Sandy slipped an arm against the bedding, up and around to hold Mike in return.

"I'm sorry. So very sorry."

Though there was a chance it could still be possible. He'd have to discuss the matter with Kent, see if he'd be willing to look into the spirit realm, see if Mike's mother was around and interested in seeing her son. Once he knew what was possible, he'd see how Mike felt about it, but it was best not to even mention it. Something to keep in mind.

But he shook his head. "It's okay. Mom... still remembered me like I was. She never knew me as I am now, and if she did, she... she wouldn't like it."

Nobody liked it. ...Except Kitt and Sandy. All the more reason to stay with them.

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