#project supernova

Walking into work after missing a day was always a daunting experience. You’d become known as “that person” that didn’t deserve to work at LuthorCorp of all places. Of course, you were a bad employee across all types of businesses, but being a bad worker at the corporate empire? A place that people beg to be apart of? With paychecks to die for? You came off as arrogant at best.

Usually, you’d sadly scan in, take the elevator upstairs with your head hung low, and march your ass all the way to your managers office for a stern talking to and another write up. But today, weirdly enough, your keycard wasn’t letting you in? You swore that you only had one write up this past work year? You’d always get hurt and recover on your off day, minus the one time. You hadn’t warranted being fired??

Standing at the entrance of the elevator, you panicked whilst clenching your messenger bag filled with all the files you’d missed working on from yesterday.

You were beginning to feel the horrors of unemployment.

A kind soul tapped your shoulders. “Excuse me.”

He was a man with sunken eyes, fair skin that was clearly more pale than it should be, and too much hair. Definitely an engineer, you thought.

You moved to the side, and you let him scan his card. Getting on the elevator, you were confused as to how he wouldn’t have been able to ascertain what a malfunctioning card meant. Nothing “malfunctions” at LuthorCorp.

It was a silent ride to the top, and luckily the depressed engineer had enough clearance on his card to where you didn’t have to rescan yours to get to your department.

Arriving at your floor, you were greeted with a lot of looks, not all kind. Of course, you had the friendly neighborhood employees that were almost too kind to be there, and then you had the majority that made up the workplace culture you’d come to understand.

Passing through groups of cubicles, avoiding the staring, you walked to your superior’s office like you had done so many times before.

Knocking on her door, you stood, waiting for an answer.

…

It was taking a little bit longer than usual. Maybe she didn't hear you?

You knocked again, heavier handed.

…

How could she know it was you knocking? It’s not like this dark oak wood door was see through?? Was she a secret metahuman who could detect ungrateful employees through any surface???

Taking a deep breath, you momentarily stopped your mind spiral. You knew if you turned around, you see heads quickly swivel in the opposite direction, and that’s simply something you didn’t want to experience.

You frowned. So I just wait till she answers? Do I keep knocking?

“Hey genius!” You turned your head in the direction of the mean greeting. “She’s at a meeting! Quit knocking!”

Right! Meetings are a thing that exists! You brightened a little at this information. She wasn’t even on this floor! All the meeting rooms were in the upper levels, all you had to do was wait!

Skirting towards the elevator docking area, you stood, leaning against the left wall of the opening. You could wait until she gets back! Then you could have a chat about your employment, probably you mostly begging for another chance, at least until you found another job.

While waiting you were tempted to get out your phone and doom-scroll on the #ironwill tag on Twitter. It was always a great way to see how loved you were and gave you the boost you needed. But you had a feeling that it wouldn’t be so loving right now.

It was a grueling wait; you were tempted to give up—oh the door is opening!!

It’s a late employee, that was basically the less-worse you. Motherfucker had the audacity to glare at you as they walked in! Hmmph!

People are so rude, You scowled.

As you reached for your phone, the elevator closest to you opened.

You straightened up. It was your boss, your heart sank, but not because it was her, but she was with her boss.

You’d never seen Lex Luthor in person. He was more of a fictitious figure than a person in your mind. The self-made trillionaire that dabbles in every and all things science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.

His usual black pinstriped three-piece suit and his piercing gaze were so much more abysmal in person, and you weren’t even the one in conversation. His presence made an impression, as if the air got colder.

“Don’t disappoint me, Petra. I’m counting on you.” He spoke as your manager was leaving the elevator, folder tightly clasped to her person. His eyes momentarily glanced over at you, allowing you both to lock eyes for a moment. And for a split-second, his eyes seemed to have glared at you before immediately going back to his other employee.

You shivered in your stiffness. Did I just imagine that?

If you weren’t so focused on Mr. Luthor, you’d be able to see just how worried your superior looked. It was definitely not a positive meeting.

The elevator closed as quickly as it opened, leaving you and your employer shaken at varying levels. She didn’t seem to even register you were right there to the left of her. You debated if you should tap her shoulder.

Slowly reaching her frame as to not scare her, she noticed you inching along.

She backed away from you, almost startled, saying your name, “What the hell are you doing here?!”

You began, “Ms. Petra, can you please forgive me?

“I know I’ve been a bad employee, taken hours long breaks, had way too many no call, no shows, and slept at my desk, but I promise you I deserve employment! I mean I’mateamplayerandIlove,justlove,myfellowemployees! SuretheymightbemeantomesometimesandthinkI’mungratefulbutIknowtheylovemedeepdowninside!—”

(For my dyslexic friends: I’m a team player and I love, just love, my fellow employees! Sure they might be mean to me sometimes and think I’m ungrateful but I know they love me deep down inside!)

“Please stop talking.” She said pathetically, lacking her usual spunk. She looked like a abandoned kicked puppy that just got out of the rain.

You shut up, waiting for her to gain her speech. “First of all, yeah you’re forgiven I guess, it’s only your second write up at this point and you mostly get your work in on time despite being terrible,” she paused, taking a breath and rubbing her temples, “Second of all, why are you begging this much? Usually your begging is like, half of that.”

You looked at her incredulously. “You… fired me?” You quirked a brow.

“No I didn’t.” She replied, deadpanned.

“Then why wasn’t my keycard working getting on the elevator today?”

She shrugged.

“Do people track who comes in?”

“Yeah, security, but that’s usually a.. well… security issue… ,” she slow blinked, “What I’m trying to say is that they wouldn’t be able to “cancel” your card.”

You looked down at your card, perplexed and even more horrified. Who locked you out?

“Look, I just had an important meeting and instead of thinking about it I want to drink the good Merlot that’s been aging in my desk, so I’m going to do that, ok? Now get back to work.”

You nodded your head, walking to your desk and sitting in your chair. Putting down your bag next to you, your hands shivered a little.

You wondered if LuthorCorp really did have malfunctions, and in that same thought, if they had employee tech support?

Who was on your case??

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You’d carried the same worry all the way home. It made you paranoid in a way.

If someone had something against you, then they might just know your identity. And if they know your identity, and worked at LuthorCorp, AND you were injured? You’d never once said you were “cooked” until this very moment.

Closing the door to your apartment and locking it, you were tempted to put a chair up to the door handle in case your unemployment scaring assailant decided to meet you in person.

Would Batman take me seriously if I asked for help? You pondered, putting a chair up to your door handle.

Wait no, you could defend yourself! You might not be able to take a punch, but you could always just defend yourself with your ferrokinesis! There was nothing to worry about! You’d almost forgotten who you were, haha! You ARE Ironwill! Nothing could touch you and win without getting hurt first!

Changing into your undergarments, you crawled into your bed and debated your afternoon.

The smart thing to do would be to stay in and rest for the sake of your ribs, you did have an appointment with Dr. Rock tomorrow that you wanted to look good for. The passionate thing to do would be watching police scanners and returning to your young vigilante roots, hopefully catching some media coverage in the process. The dangerous thing to do would be to go back to LuthorCorp, and search for your meddling asshole.

For the sake of your nerves and your ego, you picked the second option. Whoever this person was, if they were watching you, you couldn’t dare show weakness by taking the easy route and staying in your apartment. You also needed to show the world you weren’t weak! It’s Ironwill not Graphitewill, ugh.

Getting up from your bed, you put on your “low key” clothes and mask, the stuff you wore before you had a costume. You’d never worn these clothes outside of your early hero days, never parting with them because of how much nostalgia they brought you. You hadn’t worn the clothes in almost a decade, that’s how long ago high school was.

Turning to the mirror in your room, you realized you definitely grew a little bit. Even feeling them on your body, the clothes were a little snug—they showed your form a little more boldly than you were comfortable with—, but otherwise they fit perfectly. You’d never thought you’d need them again.

Unfortunately for you, it was still daylight. Trying to be a hero in all black would grant you more individuality then you’d prefer.

You groaned, “Waiting for the sun to set was always the worst part…”

That’s was one aspect of being your neighborhood high school hero that you’d always hated.

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Taking a stroll around the city, you certainly got your steps in, but no crime was happening from what you could observe or hear from your little radio.

Usually as soon as the sun sets, folks would jump at the gun for a mugging, a high speed chase, an opportunity to burn an apartment complex, something! Not to say it was boring, which it should be! Boring cities are safe cities! Metropolis isn’t Gotham. But, it was boring.

The ever-looming threat of your work nemesis wasn’t helping either. You were beginning to think you should’ve picked the dangerous option, anxiety be damned.

—“PETTY THEFT ON PUNNET DRIVE AT THE BP GAS STATION! HAS ESCALATED TO A HOSTAGE SITUATION! CODE RED, BACKUP NEEDED!”—

Now that was something up your alley!

Running, well more like a brisk jog for the love of your ribs, you arrived at the scene from the back. You heard police presence and some nosy pedestrians that were probably recording. You honed in on chatter about a male, presumably high school aged, having holed himself in the gas station like a fortress, taking the cashier as collateral. The demand he proposed was if the police left, and he was safely allowed to leave, he would release the cashier, and no one would be harmed.

This was perfect! A job that you were made for, kind of.

You could easily manipulate metal with some drawbacks of course —the brain tearing— but it got worse when the metal was dispersed in a substance. Humans, for example, have metal in them, but aren’t made of metal. So, if it’s hard to manipulate metal period, it’s harder to concentrate on where specific metals are located. Especially enough to apprehend people, which they could fight against, making it worse.

Please don’t let this be how I get a stroke and die. You thought, taking a deep breath.

Ideally there would be something you could hit the criminal with that was metal, but that always carried a risk of reaction time. You might not be fast enough to whack the kid before they realized, which put the hostage in danger.

Now, in order for your powers to work at all, you needed to see what you were manipulating. This is hard to do when a gas station only has windows in the front and left and right sides where you have to be almost completely visible just to look through them.

Taking a deep breath, you proceeded to the right side of the gas station slowly. It was the side that was less visible, allowing you to peak through the window.

The kid seemed to be pacing, looking more scared than the hostage, an underpaid alternative woman from what you could see.

You began to sense where the metal was in his body, squinting as you did so like it made a difference. Getting to a point where you had a grip on the guy, you began to make him surrender.

You had him put down his weapon and open the door with his hands up as he looked in horror at his body not responding to his commands. He gave no fight towards your manipulation, and if he did, it felt like nothing.

It was still draining all the same, but you felt better about how draining it was, so it made you feel better.

Only after the police got a hold of him did you let him go, almost collapsing as you did. Manipulating humans took a lot of your energy and brain power, literally.

A voice broke through the crowd of civilians you didn’t know was there. “Look over there! There’s someone dressed in black!”

“They must’ve stopped the mugger!” Another one gasped.

“That person! It’s a new hero!”

In an instant, phones were on you like ants on food. Before they could get a good look, you flew the scene. You couldn’t let your doctor find out you were using your powers while on bed rest. Vigilantes are “low key” for a reason.

After you got a far enough distance away, the adrenaline wore off, and your ribs were screaming at you. You leaned against the wall of the dark alley you landed in. The pain was a tad dizzying, but nothing you couldn’t stave off! You just… needed a minute…

Taking a couple deep breaths, you took off your mask, finding yourself hot. Gently caressing your left side, you rested your head fully against the wall, tilting your head up towards the night sky.

When you finally got to a spot where you could get up, you used the wall to pull yourself up, deciding to walk the rest of the way back home. You were satiated for tonight. No doubt “that person” would be trending, maybe some smart cookies would connect the manipulation to your known skill set. You sure hoped so. Your side hurt like a bitch and a half.

Trying your hardest not to limp, you started—

BZZZZT!

You felt the shock in your bad side, sending shocks through your entire body, and pain enough to bring you to tears. You tried to swing around to your left to meet your attacker, but they tripped you before you could fully meet their face, falling on your right side, feeling something had broken there too. Your ribs couldn’t catch a break.

Your potential kidnapper reached down to meet you, brandishing something you assumed was a syringe from the metal glare it emitted, but it was hard to see with the little light that surrounded you.

“You-agh! You couldn’t have thought t-to do this when I was already down—ah! get OFF ME—!” You yelled, fighting whoever the hell this was from sticking whatever they had in your flesh.

Unfortunately, you were worn mentally, and this was not helping. Your mind was spinning from a mixture from exhaustion and pain, and it was getting harder to defend yourself on whatever never-ending strength your attacker had.

You felt something small stick itself into your shoulder, feeling something seep into your veins.

You were out in a blip.

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a/n : can you tell my wattpad habits are still with me? XD Hope you enjoyed!

You never quite liked grey.

It was such a dull color, had too many shades for a hue with such a lack of luster. The in between of black and white? The nuance that colored your world? It’s a shame really, you knew your people could use a lot more color.

Ironic that often the metal you command is of the color you so detested, but even more so, the color you spread by manipulating it.

—Like right now

“Ironwill! Duck!”

You did so, looking towards the messenger in gratitude. “Thanks Terrific.”

He gave a nod before making a force shield covering the two of you.

You lean on him, exhausted. “What’s the best course of action?”

“The best thing I can think of is to go underground and get ‘em from the inside. The sewer system has a big water main right below the main lobby. If you could manipulate the metal, and force the stream to go upward, you could—”

“Skunk ‘em?”

Mr. Terrific gave you a side eye. “Yeah.”

“Where’s the nearest manhole?”

You saw his t-spheres spotting possible sewer entrances as he typed away on his forearm thingamabob. “About seven yards away to our upper right on the sidewalk next to the bank.”

“What? Is there anywhere where a piece of concrete concussing me isn’t guaranteed?” You asked incredulously.

“The nearest one is four city blocks away.”

“You’re not gonna have time!” Hawkgirl yelled, blocking a fast flying chunk of the bank’s wall. “They’re running out of things to throw!”

You sighed. “Fine, but you all will have to cover me!”

“I can do you one better,” Guy piqued up, putting you in a green fluorescent battle armored suit. It felt weightless yet also impervious? “Now go!”

You nodded, the face shield of the armor coming down unceremoniously as you did so. You just knew you were gonna smell the in your poor actual suit for weeks. Apologizing to your sense of smell for what it was about to experience, you quickly leapt back into the fight to your destination, Hawkgirl and Terrific covering you however well they could. As you got closer so did the objects, it was hard not to flinch. Yes you were superhuman, but were you invincible? Ehhh…

Unfortunately for you, you quickly felt your human-ness when you got hit in the side, knocking you slightly off balance as you continued running, stumbling a bit in your stride. Despite the armor, you could feel a stabbing pain in your abdomen. You’d been hit enough to ascertain that that meant a broken rib, maybe two? Three? You hoped not three.

You were getting closer, moving the cover of the hole out of the way for a nose dive underground. With Hawkgirl quickly saving you a clear headshot, you jumped into the sewer.

You expected the smell, but it was still incredibly obnoxious. You’d never even dreamt of something so overtly disgusting. With the armored suit dissipating due to you being too far away, you ran on the side of the sewer until you got to the part that you could deduce was the lobby, seeing the fast flowing water main Terrific was talking about.

Quickly separating the pipe in half and closing one side so that the poop water didn’t spray on you more than it needed to, you took the other half and forced it through the ground, making a hole into the bank. You levitated through the hole you had made, the stretchy limbed robbers quickly turning around to face you, leaving them to be quickly apprehended by the Justice Gang outside.

You looked towards the hostages, scared in the corner, stinky water now pooling at their feet. “Sorry citizens,” you began, putting on your biggest voice, “I didn’t mean to put you in another stinky situation!”

“Yeah, thanks Ironwill.” One of them spoke, sarcastic.

You wilted a little, you thought your pun was hilarious.

Turning around, you stopped the flow of water and connected the main back together. The hostages rushed to the front of the building as the authorities and paramedics came, such authorities sending the villains to Belle Reve.

You stood in the moment a little, taking a breath—ah! That fucking hurts! Your hand quickly came to your left side as you leaned over, you could feel the bits of bone as they meddled against your lungs.

Spotting this, Mr. Terrific ran over, using his t-spheres to investigate you as a sort of diagnostic. “Three broken ribs” —fuck— “and pretty damn close to a punctured lung, internal bleeding. They hit you hard.”

You tried to steady yourself, chuckling a little as you did. “Clearly.” You stumbled, feeling your vision begin to blur, breaths becoming more labored. “I know you don’t like to touch people too much, but can you make sure that when I pass out I don’t fall on this floor? It’s got the sewer all over it…”

All you could remember before you slipped into unconsciousness was falling into his arms.

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You slowly woke up, feeling groggy, like something terribly heavy had set itself on your entire body. But especially your head, oh god your head… It’s like a hangover from hell.

Trying to get up, you were quickly stopped by your doctor, who looked incredibly unhappy.

“Heeyy Dr. Rock!” You spoke in a slushed tone.

“You had to have surgery for your ribs. Luckily we were able to piece everything back together, but if you want a full recovery, you’ll have to be out of hero-work for at least ten weeks.”

You quickly snapped into full focus, turning your head to him. “What? That’s like, three months!”

“Actually only two and a half, which you should be grateful for by the way. It should be more, considering you’ve broken ribs there in the past before.”

“Is there any way I can speed up the process? People are going to wonder where I am!”

Dr. Rock sighed. “I’m sure they can wait for Ironwill to gather strength and return “better than ever”.”

You gave him a concerned look. “You said that last bit like it was untrue… Will I not be better than ever?” You gasped.

“DO I HAVE CANCER?”

Your doctor face palmed. “No you don’t have cancer!”—you heaved a sigh of relief

“Listen, Ironwill,” he started, looking off to the side, “Can I be honest with you? We’re friends right?”

“Sure! Like Buggs Bunny always says, what’s up ‘doc?” You giggle, regretting it immediately in your side.

“I am so annoyed with you right now, Willy.”

“Well that’s a start! And you know I hate that nickname right? Now you’re going to annoy me.”

He scrunched his face even farther than you’d ever seen it go. You couldn’t properly deduce if his expression was out of hate or angry concern or some mix of the two. “You know what I hate, Ironwill?”

He paused, beginning to pace around the hospital bed you laid on, “ I hate when you continue to put yourself in life threatening situations over and over and over again. I hate when I have to get up everyday and hope that you’re not wheeled in on a stretcher. I hate when I have to see you in my care yet again.”

“You have such a way with words!” You responded, faking positivity.

“And I also hate that you don’t care.”

You were going to say something, but then were cut off. “You know you didn’t break more than just your ribs yesterday, correct? You also ripped parts in your pre-frontal cortex by concentrating so hard whilst manipulating metal.

“Ever heard of seizures? Aneurysms? Strokes? Well, you’re inching dangerously close to that every minute you use your powers! Ironwill, your powers are not made for—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” You interrupted curtly, sitting up quickly as you did, wincing as sharp pains rang through your abdomen.

“You know they aren’t made for your body.” He continued, rubbing salt on your wound. “You know this entire super humanistic division of the hospital started because of you? You may be beloved, but maybe new additions to HIPPA law to include superhuman patients and protect their real identities being made in your name because you’re such a frequent patient should be a wake up call?”

“I thought doctors were supposed to be kind to their patients? Lay them down slowly y’know?” You frowned, feeling kicked.

“You act like I haven’t said this before, Willy. You need to stop. I’m not trying to hurt you, but you don’t listen—!”

You stuttered a little before you spoke, possible retorts racing in your train of thought. “Honestly Dr. Rock, you don’t have to do this now. I had a good day, saved multiple hostages that can tell generations of how the light of Ironwill saved the day, and I would prefer to think about that instead. Also, isn’t a lack of stressful, rather-left-unsaid discussions good for patients that need to heal?”

Rolling his eyes, Dr. Rock, began to exit the room. He looked at you one last time before slamming the door. “If you get hurt again, you’re on your own.”

You could laugh if it wasn’t so painful.

Ha! A hospital? Refuse service? What is this, the end times? Laughable! Like they could refuse you. Letting yourself belly laugh in your head, you felt your side as you carefully laid back down, propping up your head. You could feel the stitches at your fingertips, still sore with hurt.

Looking to your right towards the nightstand, you reached over and looked for the remote to the tv in front of you. You always made a habit to watch people sing your praises on the news after being sent to the hospital. It warmed you to hear how you made a difference. Not like you needed it of course! You’re amazing regardless of what people or doctors or hostages that can’t take jokes have to say! Buuutt it is really nice to hear it, you thought it kept you humble in a way.

That praise was not something you were greeted with today.

IRONWILL SENT TO SUPER ICU AFTER PASSING OUT IN LATEST BANK ROBBERY

“Good morning Metropolis, I’m your host, Linda Park and this morning we’re covering yet another villainous spectacle downtown.

“Last night, heroes Hawkgirl, Green Lantern, and Mr. Terrific of the Justice Gang and the vigilante Ironwill successfully apprehended two assailants that have yet to be properly identified from robbing Chase Bank.

“Shortly after the event concluded, Ironwill passed out from a hit from the left side gained while in combat. They comfortably rest and recover in Metropolis’ Superhuman Intensive Care Unit.

“This unfortunately marks the fourth serious injury this year. With us only four months into the year, Ironwill has averaged one injury per month. Many are beginning to question the necessity for Ironwill’s service. Should they retire? After the robbing, witnesses to the event gave their testimony: “

“Ironwill got wheeled out on a stretcher again??”

“One can’t help but feel a little sorry for Ironwill. To be so fragile and weak?”

“How the hell is this happenin’? The big Fe wasn’t always like this? They outta change their name to Will without the Iron because this is some false advertisin’.”

“That ‘lil superhero need ‘ta retire! It’s a damn shame, but it’s god’s honest truth.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Had the people.. lost faith in you?

This sinking feeling in your chest grew as you pondered the thought, tuning out the other witnesses and what they had to say in the process. It was a gutting feeling, to not even be acknowledged for the good that you did, had done, and want to continued to do. You weren’t fragile. You sure as hell weren’t weak. You didn’t know what these people were talking about. Surely they’re just long time haters? Right?

You turned off the television, folding your arms in a comforting mention. It was like you were steadying yourself before you broke apart.

After a moment, you pushed the red call button next to your bed.

“Yes, Ironwill?” Asked a nurse.

“I would like to be discharged please.”

You’d show them. Your people needed you.

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Getting home was a pain in the ass. Couldn’t get an uber because people would suspect you were a superhero, wouldn’t be too hard to walk home right?

Wrong.

To distract yourself from the pain, you read directions on how to take care of yourself on the way back. You had to check back in the hospital in ten days for a check up, see how your sutures are doing.

You also apparently couldn’t take a shower for the next 24 hours. Luckily you didn’t smell like sewer anymore so that wasn’t much of a problem.

When the directions ran out, you thought about how to best prove yourself to your city. Hard to do when there wasn’t an opportunity, and you technically had to wait until you healed anyways. Maybe you could help the Justice Gang? Acting as a support hero for a little while isn’t terrible! But then people would think you disappeared again…

It was a pickle, and honestly it made you feel worse. When you did reach your home, the only thing you could manage was carefully taking off the clothes you were lent from the hospital, throwing your super suit to a corner of your room, and laying down for bed. You’d feel better in the morning, surely enough?

Well, maybe not. You missed work today, a no call no show.

As you mentally prepared yourself for the public humiliation ritual that was fucking up at work, your mind drifted to what you could be up to after you clocked out. You could handle small things perhaps, out of the suit, listen to police chatter. You could be a coincidental luck? Like someone stuck in a burning building suddenly being able to lift a 1000lbs beam to run to safety, or a cat that mysteriously got un-stuck from a tree. It wasn’t the publicity you needed, but it would satiate you for now.

After all, who didn’t like the friendly neighborhood hero? You didn’t have to grandstand all the time?

Maybe this was good actually!

Yeah! This would be great!

Just peachy.

Cuddling your pillow, you slowly let yourself drift into sleep, setting your alarm for work in the morning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡧⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⣆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢺⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣧ ⠀⠐⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡏⣿⣷⡀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠺⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄ ⠤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣿⠇⠀⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒ ⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠛⣿⣿⣦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠠⡧⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⢀⣤⣾⣦⡀ ⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⢇⣶⣿⠟⠙⠻⣿⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈

a/n : Forgive me for any syntax errors, and let me know if there are any. I strictly write past 11 pm it's like a habit

I feel like I should clarify that this fic is in no way intended to be an oc x canon. Ironwill is simply the name I use instead of y/n in many contexts. I created "Ironwill" only for this purpose.

You slowly opened your eyes, shuddering from the bright sunlight. Wait, sunlight?

Was it day time already? How long were you out?

You slowly pushed yourself up from the bed, feeling like you were covered in a thin sheet of paper. Looking down at your body was that familiar periwinkle hospital gown that you’d come to know so well. Shit.

You were in the hospital, and if your presumption that your not-kidnapping was last night, you’d be having your appointment with Dr. Rock. And you were less than presentable, much less abiding by his careful advice.

You reflected on his haunting words from your last conversation:

‘“I hate seeing you in my care again.”’

‘“Your powers aren’t made for your body.”’

‘“If you get hurt again, you’re on your own.”’

You really hoped that last one wasn’t a serious statement.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Your heart seemed to drop when you met Dr. Rock’s face, looking about as happy as a doctor-who-told-their-stubborn-patient-to-relax-and-then-didn’t-relax would look.

You sighed nervously, trying to hide your shivers. “Heyy Doc Rock...!”

“Don’t ‘Doc Rock’ me.”

Ok, already off to a bad start, you thought.

“I’m guessing you’re the “that person” that everyone has been speaking about? I mean the body puppeteering, all black clothes posing like an unknow vigilante, and noticeable awkwardness on the left side while running away all point to you.

“Listen, Dr. Rock, I’m—”

“No, Ironwill. Let me speak.

“This makes the fifth time you’ve gotten yourself seriously hurt this year, you know that? If math serves correctly, you will quickly grow that number to ten by the end of the year. That means, if you do the math, for every month, you average at least one injury, coming out to 10-12 injuries a year. Do you know the general average for every other superhero that ever comes in our care? Two injuries per year, and that’s the maximum.

“You you remember what I said last time? ‘You’re on your own if you do this again’?”

“Dr. Rock please,” you began to plead, “I was being safe! But I was assaulted by someone else—”

“Safe?” He said incredulously. “Safe is far from what I’d call exacerbating your injuries and getting yourself on the precipice of a seizure.

“Look, this hospital treated you for whatever you decided to mess up again this time to the best of our ability. But as Lead Director of the Superhuman Care Unit, I am hereby refusing any service you might need for hero-related ailments.”

Those words rested on your heart, making you reminisce over your life up until this point. You depended on the hospital’s care to be a hero, and they… cut you off? You felt like this was some sort of intervention, as if you were some fucking addict. It made you angry.

“Any future appointments to treat the remaining injuries you have will be passed on to the regular department under a new doctor that doesn’t know who you are in order to protect your identity.”

—And your anger felt white hot. Like you could burst into flames. It gave you a headache just thinking about it.

You take in a deep breath, a uncanny coolness dimming the flames. There was no use arguing, you thought.

“Do you have any more questions, Ironwill?”

One thing came to your mind as you glanced at the clock on your nightstand. It just became 1PM. “How long have I been admitted since my arrival?”

“About two days.” He replied.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧˳·˖✶ ✦

The walk of shame back to your home felt like you were trudging through quicksand, your feet so heavy with a mixture of guilt, disappointment, defeat, and depression. You tried to disregard the thought that your hero career just died in that hospital room, with not even a disagreement from yourself. You thought that this was what you were destined to do, and you didn’t even fight for it.

Coming home, you changed out of your black vigilante clothes and into something work related before leaving out again. Picking up your work bag on the way.

Your pleading at work was even worse. You missed two days in a row, adding on to the two you already had beforehand. You could make no excuse for yourself without revealing important information. Your begging had no effect on Petra, as she handed you your official letter of resignation for record keeping sake.

You know at least five people rejoiced as you left the office with your head held low.

Both of your jobs were over in less than three hours.

Shutting the door to your apartment, you leaned on it, stumped on what you should do next. Maybe you could join the LordTech organization like the Justice Gang, but what need would they have with someone who gets hurt every time they use their powers?

Beg to Batman? He didn’t even like you anyways. He didn’t show emotion very well, but you could tell. You quickly pondered the other alternative, the Flash, but you dismissed it just as fast. You weren’t that desperate.

You carefully rested your bag by your door. Stumbling into your kitchen and rummaging through your cabinets, you pull out a glass to fill with your alcohol of choice. Whatever soothes me the most, you thought. You leaned against your countertop taking a sip. Then looking up at your ceiling despondently, you hoped that that would somehow make the alcohol kick in faster. You felt that coolness from earlier, but it was specifically hitting your right shoulder?

Oh, it’s the air conditioning right above you. How did you not notice it from your ceiling brooding? Feeling the need for a blanket, you tried setting down your drink to meet a weirdly soft surface? Looking down at your hand, you found a manilla colored envelope.

“Are we serious?”

Setting your glass on the surrounding flat surface, you angrily opened the stupid folder. You knew it could’ve held some explosive, taking you and hopefully your annoying and loud upstairs neighbors with them, but you could care less. It’s not like you’re suicidal, but death did not seem like a bad avenue for life to go towards right now.

Opening the folder, you found a single page containing a nicely typed professional message in Times New Roman.

“Hello Ironwill, I would love for us to meet each other in person at The Clouds tomorrow evening at 8:30pm. I believe we can both assist each other in what we want. Don’t be late, be presentable.”

What the fuck?

The letter wasn’t signed and left no clues as to who it could be. It was clearly someone affluent, I mean who has the money to go to The Clouds? The famous restaurant and bar that was so high up it just barely grazed the clouds (hence the name)? Most of the criminals you dealt with were petty thieves and slightly meta brutes. All the serious villains were in Belle Reve, which was under the fearless jurisdiction of Amanda fucking Waller, nobody escapes Belle Reve.

Who were you dealing with?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧˳·˖✶ ✦

You were up sundown to sun rise looking into who this person behind the letter could be.

Stupid deep dives like ‘What villains are associated with Times New Roman?’ or ‘What villain sent letters to their nemeses?’ assuming that you were even this villain’s nemesis in the first place. You learned a lot about villainy during your search. For one, yes villains wrote letters, and wrote them so incredibly often it was considered “tacky” by the most prolific villains around, but most especially tacky with fancy fonts like Times. And even more surprisingly, there’s a villain in Star City by the same name as the font with three henchmen named after the fonts: Wing Dings, Comic Sans, and Papyrus. And the villain liked to call himself Toby, with Times being his government name? What correlation did those two names even have? You shamefully took a detour in your search to look into him out of curiosity.

Clearly, you left many stones turned in your search, but none leading you to your resident asshole.

It was 4:03AM, eleven hours into your search. You were pacing all over your apartment, computer in hand as you ignored any sleepiness you accrued. There’s nothing you could find about a villain with waayy to much money in Metropolis. Sipping your fifth drink by this point, you felt like you could cry.

Now its 8:48AM, almost sixteen hours into your search. You added chips to aid in pursuit, neglecting to order breakfast now with your unemployment. You’d stopped drinking.

10:37AM, seventeen and a half hours into your search, you’re plastered in a alcohol and chips food coma. It was a sad scene, your legs abnormally split vertically across your couch, your neck crooning in an odd way as you drooled on the soft fabric, head facing up towards the ceiling. Somehow this was comfortable to you and your injuries.

If someone walked in, seeing you in this state—in dress clothes no less—they’d have thought you were struggling with something.

7:06PM, you slowly woke up for what felt like the umpteenth time this week. You had an unbearable need to use the bathroom. Noticing the now pitch-black sky outside, you know your time with your nemesis(?) was coming soon.

Sitting in your bathroom, you gave yourself a quick sniff, rendering that you definitely need a shower. That pacing and nervous sweat had caught up to you like a vice. Getting up from the loo, you turn your shower on, steam gradually filling the bathroom. As you de-robe, you sigh, taking in the situation you’re in.

You felt powerless. You knew nothing and therefore had no expectation for what could be expected. You could be walking in to die for all you knew, or worse. You could only hope in yourself at this point, and hoping in yourself seemed pretty difficult at this point. Why couldn’t this have come earlier this week?

Whatever danger you could enter into, you were sure that if you tried to defend yourself, you’d have a negative reaction. And whoever this villain was, they knew about your left side. The odds were stacked against you even inside yourself. You were a regular, weakened human walking into the metaphorical lion's den. You didn’t even own a gun because you were so confident in your powers…

You felt your heart race, head throbbing from the hangover, shower fading into the background. You felt like all your breath was stolen, the steam making it worse. You slowly came down to the floor of your bathroom, sitting on the bathmat just in front of your sink. You sit there until you catch your breath.

8:01PM. You just got out of the shower. Quickly drying yourself down, forgoing moisturizer for the meantime, you quickly looked through your closet for anything resembling “presentable” for The Clouds.

Perhaps on color theme for the dark clouds above you, you found a nice garment in black and with hints of a cream that you could only recognize as similar to moonlight. Considering you’d be extra close to the moon tonight, you’d hoped it could grant you some sort of luck. You were out of options regardless.

8:11PM, quickly running out of your apartment complex, you swallowed down three Advil pills and prayed they kicked in fast with how high your blood pressure was.

Frantically waving down a taxicab, you requested to be driven all the way across town to The Clouds. You also told the driver to drive as fast as she could and she’d get a tip so large that no ticket would matter. Safe to say, she got you there in time, all for a hefty fee that you’d definitely regret later.

Sparing no time, you entered the building at 8:27PM.

The Clouds had a very infamous ride to the top of the spire via elevator. Most of the way up was surrounded by glass, allowing the patron to see their ascent or later descent clearly.

The elevator ride was less fun than you’d thought it would be, especially with the large clouds covering the otherwise visible stars. However, it was interesting to witness you getting higher and farther away from the city you loved. People looked like ants from this high up, cars looked like tiny toys. And with the night lights, the city looked beautiful yet vast in a way you hadn’t seen before; like everywhere was accessible if you just reached out for it.

For a moment, you tried this “reaching out”, pressing your hand against the cold glass.

It calmed you.

When you finally reached the top, you were greeted with excessively dim, yellow lights with cream and oak wood decor. At the host kiosk, you could see “The Clouds” in a celestial seeming font right above it in a sun colored yellow.

But strangely enough, the restaurant seemed… empty? Was it closed??

Your nerves shot back up.

Waiting at the kiosk, eventually a man in a blue and white uniform comes to greet you. Telling you that your reservation was “right this way”. You didn’t even say anything?

Following diligently behind him, you scanned your surroundings. The restaurant definitely looked empty, with all the chairs turned upside down on top of tables like the employees were about to vacuum.

8:31PM. You were just a minute late, but you’d arrived to your destination. In a sector of the restaurant near the bar, a small circular table was set for you, with the chairs of other tables around it stationed on the ground like they normally would be.

Subverting your expectations, your mysterious person was nowhere to be found, and before you could ask the host, he was gone.

Taking this as a queue to sit down, you began to pull out your chair.

“No, let me,” spoke a familiar voice.

Turning to meet the noise was Lex Luthor.

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK FUCK!!!????

To say you were in shock would be an understatement.

Despite your reaction, he continued to pull your chair out for you, gesturing for you to sit down and eventually pushing you in.

Aside from the fact that your villain was Lex Luthor, this same man was also the one that supposedly ended your job and broke up you and your doctor. So growing with your shock was a nagging feeling of anger that you knew you needed to let out soon.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Ironwill. All of which I will let you answer after I get into the intricacies of why I called you here today.

“—But before that, would you care for some wine? Merlot perhaps?”

⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠻⢶⣤⣶⣾⣿⠁⠀⢽⣆⡀⢀⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⣽⠉⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠴⣾⣿⣀⣀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢻⣦⡀⠚⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠂⠀⠀⢀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣇⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⠏⠀⢀⠀⠀⠿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣴⣿⣿⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠁⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠩⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⡿⠋⠀⠘⣿⣿⡆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣶⣶⣿⣿⣅⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠿⣿⣮⣤⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⣹⣿⠳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣽⣿⣿⠟⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠿⠛⠻⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⢀⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

a/n : Fun fact, a very real place called the Heights I believe mimics the structure of The Clouds in Detroit, MI! I've only been there once on vacay, it's super pretty. I got inspiration from it.