“That dude had a killer aim,” Steph said, dabbing gently at the cut on Simon’s forehead with a cotton ball, one of the pouches in her belt open with all the first aid supplies she had. “Like, where do you think he learned to throw a cell phone like that? Enough to nail you right in the head. That’s literally so funny—also, let us mourn that man’s insurance on this phone. He really was committed to getting away with those stolen art pieces.” She mused, wiping off the rest of the blood before putting a purple bandaid over the cut. “There! Good as new. Head injuries always bleed the worst. Thankfully, you should make it out alive.” A pause then Steph grinned a bit, “hopefully. I make no promises. I’m a vigilante, not a doctor.” 

They had been staking out a potential art burglary, and by that Steph meant that she was actually just talking to the Green Lantern and not watching properly. The guy was already halfway down the street with his bag of expensive art pieces from the museum before they realized and went after him. In his desperation to not be caught, he promptly tugged his own cell phone out of his pocket and chucked it right at them. Steph had to commend the aim, even if she knew Simon would glare at her for just that.

@impulselantern

There was a moment where Jessica was stunned into silence. It wasn't unlike Simon to put on a front to refuse to help her - but this was one of those times where Jessica was turned all the way up, and his comment had hit something. After a brief pause, she wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms. "Sure," she said, nodding her head as if she understood where Simon was coming from. (She did. Otherwise, she would have investigated what had happened herself and this discussion would be over.) "Hal would have investigated." There was no reason to bring Hal into it, but she knew that it would, at the bare minimum, get a reaction out of Simon.

@impulselantern

Sharon should have just played along. She had antagonized him enough already, but Sharon wasn’t the kind of person to give out easy victories. Putting her feet up, she pointed at her shoes. “I don’t own any socks.” She had no-shows on, but how would he know? “You gonna buy me a pair first?” But faintly, she wondered what he knew. Had he figured her out yet? Seen her with Natasha or Steve or Tony? (He knew all the same people she did, it was only a matter of time before he caught her out. If the Green Lanterns were as much of a threat as their file made them out to be.) “What’s your story then? Maybe you can... knock my scrunchie out.” 

@impulselantern

@impulselantern

"There has to be something here," Daisy grumbled, looking up at Simon. She had all but dragged him there with her - a defunct SHIELD base and she was getting frustrated. Which was why she had called in Simon. A fresh set of eyes that didn't have all the SHIELD bullshit coloring his judgment. Dropping the papers on the table, Daisy took a seat and shook her head.

She should have eased into it, she knew. Should have given him a moment to collect himself before she looked at him with an edge of seriousness. The last time they had spoken, she had been yelling at him for dripping slime on her carpet. As annoyed as she had been about it and her ruined rug, it stopped being a joke the second that she found another slime-thing in the city. Disoriented and robbing a cafe - in a different life she might have chalked it up to a coincidence that the two events had happened so close to each other.

But Zatanna was in the habit of looking for patterns now. (Her fears about the Darkhold had driven that home.) And to her, there was no possible way that it was just mere chance that brought another slime being onto their planet - and readily breaking the laws of this planet. (Any planet, in reality.) “We have a problem, Baz,” she said plainly. “That creature you said you fought, the one I wiped off you… he had friends.” She waved her hand in the air and whispered a spell, an image of what she had seen forming in the air. “And they’re posing as humans.”

“Sure it is.” She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, head cocked. She got it--the exhaustion, the burnout, the whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it. The flying around space until every muscle in your body started to burn and your head ached and you just wanted to remember what a bed felt like. 

The tossing and turning as the sun came up, racked by the nightmares and the anxieties and the did I leave the oven on?, because your worst moments always came back to you after dark. (And what used to help was killing you, so you had to power through on willpower and coffee and reminding yourself what you were, where you were, who you were.)

Yeah, Carol got it.

“That sounds like something someone who didn’t sloop very well would say,” she said. “What’s going on, kid?”