THE CHRISTMAS EPISODE
Charles swerved at the last second to avoid the flock of penguins.
Now, this might have made sense if he had been scuba diving in arctic waters, but he was two thousand feet above the ground, and penguins could not fly.
They couldn't swear either, but wow, look at that. Colorful vocabulary.
And Gothamite accents.
Under his mask, Charles grinned.
He was closing in.
He would find him. Soon.
He would stop at nothing to find the Wishmaker.
***
Nevada had been a bust. Somehow, black ops had been fooled into following a decoy for days. No one could tell when the switch had been made.
***
Meeting Flash had been quite stressful.
He had had to explain the luggage he had been carrying.
But the Fastest Man Alive had actually sat down with him, offered some words, and sent him off with a heartfelt 'good luck'.
Man, he knew he was going to move out of Gotham as soon as he had succeeded his mission, but now he was considering Central. He could trust Flash not to send him to the hospital first and ask question later.
***
Night's winds pushed under his wings, requiring but the barest adjustment for him to keep his course.
City lights spread out beneath him like a second night sky, this one of fiery orange and pale cool white. Ahead, the neon lettering obscured the shape of the roof beyond the transmission tower. It was too thin to properly support his weight, for what he intended to do. He turned and curved to circle the skyscraper.
Black figures marched along the rooftop, their heads turned to the streets and the sky in turn, but failing to pierce through his camouflage.
Charles landed without a noise, his weight-canceling kite deployed just enough to avoid triggering the pressure detectors on top of the roof.
No one turned at the last second to shoot him. Perfect.
He waited just a second for the guard closest to him to go past, then clicked on the button on his belt. A small, kite-shaped wire shot from his waist and slid into the electronic lock. The security door behind him gave out without a noise, and Charles hurried inside.
For such a heavily guarded stronghold, he had expected tighter security. Then again, no one ever expected his special brand of genius.
Within minutes, Charles had found the computers' database and incapacitated the workers in the room.
Not wasting a second, he pulled himself to the nearest terminal and entered the search terms. A profile popped up, with nothing but a very blurry picture for a 'mugshot'. Listed powers were of no relevance, he already knew. Same as previous locations. He'd gone to most of them already. Until he scrolled to the very last lines.
LAST SIGHTING: STAR CITY, DECEMBER 20.
Two days ago! The trail wouldn't have time to grow cold.
ESTIMATED DESTINATION: FAWCETT CITY.
"Hell yeah…"
The doors slid open, and in poured a dozen guards, weapons at the ready. The bullets started raining.
***
Cold bit at the slices of exposed skin on his face. Snow twirled in the air ahead, reducing visibility. He was flying alone in a gray sky, and he heard nothing besides the howling of the wind.
His ribs ached a little. Not enough to impede movement, but there was a bruise or two under his suits, where the bullets had failed to pierce through. They hadn't seemed prepared for anything else. He repressed a smirk. They hadn't thought he'd put up this much of a fight, huh? If only they had known how important his task was…
The beeping in his helmet picked up in speed. It turned frantic, and his heartbeat synchronized. His radar had caught the hint. He was in the right spot. Precisely the right spot.
It was like being hit by a train.
One second, he was frantically trying to prepare himself, last second check-ups. The next, his kite was caught in some sleigh's railing. Not what he expected, but he had no time to think about it. His hands latched onto the sleigh's sides and he pulled himself and his precious cargo up, clinging for dear life.
He could hardly believe it. He'd… he'd finally found him.
"Jesús!" shouted a little mexican kid. "A weird man in a suit just latched onto the sleigh!"
And there, he turned around, his face half-hidden by a fake beard and a bulky Santa hat. But it was him, it had to be him. Charles had been looking all over the US for him. He would not fail now. So close to his goal.
"… How did you latch on despite the time bubble and our sound barrier breaking reindeer?"
Pride sparked in his chest at the thought that he, of all people, had done something that could baffled the Wishmaker. "My kites are the finest piece of tech known to Man."
He was so used to mockery that even the dead, blank, flat as cardboard look couldn't faze him. They were all non-believers. Certainly.
"No self-respecting civilian would ever wear that kind of suit and I don't think even the most hardened comedians on Earth could have said that with a straight face on the first try. You're a supervillain, aren't you?"
Shards of fear slipped in Charles' chest. He couldn't let it show. But he couldn't lie to the Wishmaker either. They said he would make you spill the truth. This was too important!
"I'm a petty thief. I don't hurt people."
"Debatable, but, alright," he rubbed his forehead, clearly unimpressed, "what do you want? We're kind of in the middle of something."
His breath hitched. Everything. Everything down to this. He could not shout it fast enough.
"I want my son back!" And the words echoes over the sleigh and the whirlwind snow. "They killed him. A message to me! But he was never involved in anything. It was my fault! They should have killed me instead! But he's here, you're… you're here! I listened. Everything they said about you! It's possible and I brought him. I know what you told people! And he's here. I dug him out! I dragged him with me the whole way! I've been looking for months! Don't say you can't. I asked, you did it before. Please. He's the only one I have left! He had nothing to do with my wrongdoings. Junior was innocent! Junior was a good little boy that was taken from this world too soon! So please, I beg you, I'll be your slave, your sacrifice, your anything! But bring my Junior back to me!"
"Okay."
"You have to, he's all I- wait, did you-?"
The Wishmaker pulled off the ridiculous beard off – he looked barely in his twenties, unshaven and plain – and looked him straight through his glasses. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "I said, 'okay'. I'll do it."
A mexican woman behind the Wishmaker nodded vigorously, damping her eyes with a tissue. She brought back the boy against her. Two silver-skinned elves, the same he'd seen in Gotham, leaned closer.
"Alf, don't look."
"But Je-"
"Don't look."
It was not a tone that brokered protest. Almost mechanically, the boy turned his head and hid his eyes. And surprisingly, didn't try to peek through his fingers.
The Wishmaker waved a hand and the lid vanished as if it had never existed.
Junior…
He had looked peaceful, in the church. Now, now, he looked… dead. The same as when he had dug up the grave and put him in the cryogenic container. Bluer skin, but with the same patches that had caved in and the dry, papery texture. The dark blots on his hands had spread to turn the skin entirely black, right up to his wrists. The smell… At least the freeze tech had stopped the smell.
But Junior looked dead, and he would give his life to make it no longer true.
"Don't blink," the Wishmaker whispered. "Don't look away. It's not a dream this time…"
And, there was no incantation, no great prayers or ritual, nothing so flashy, so grandiose to punctuate the miracle.
Skin and flesh repaired itself, glowing softly. Even the suit, the fucking suit he had had to purchase for his son, to present for the open casket, it morphed into a snow suit fit for a day of skiing instead. And then, Junior was as he'd been that day, at the funerals, looking almost asleep, but too peaceful, too rested. Junior had always slept fitfully, clinging to someone or coming to wake him in the middle of the night.
He'd had nightmares of being woken up by Junior's voice. Of welcoming him into his bed to protect him against the monster in the closet. They always hurt the most, when morning came and there was no Junior anywhere.
Gentle hands took his, and he barely glanced down to see the silver.
"Watch," the she-elf whispered, her smile one of awe, "The Creator's kindness heals all."
Eyelids flickered open.
His lungs stopped breathing. It's real, he heard himself think, it's real, it's real it's real it's real it's real!
"Dad?"
His voice. Tired, confused, same as if it had only been one long night, one long nightmare, finally over.
He lifted his son out of the box and crushed him into a hug. "Junior! I love you. I love you so much. You're here. You're fine. You're good." He peppered the brown hair with kisses. "I missed you! I'm so sorry for everything. Oh God. You're here. You're finally here."
"Dad, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"N-ne-never better. Never."
He'd explain everything. Later. He could hardly speak through the tears and the sobs.
"Thank you," he forced out, still curved over his son, still feeling the warmth under the skin, the lifting of his chest. "I can't… I can't ever repay you."
"Merry Christmas," replied the Wishmaker, looking embarrassed.
Charles burst out laughing. How could the words even reflect a thousandth of his gratitude? Of his elation? His boy, his baby boy, back, alive and so beautiful! 'Merry Christmas!'
"Dad, is that Santa Claus?"
The Wishmaker smacked Alf's head when he chuckled. The noise and ensuing whine was just enough distraction to draw Junior's eyes from the costume to the giant sack of present, and the boxes leaking out.
"Is that a Triple S deluxe?!" Junior shouted with twice the excitement and disbelief. "They said it was coming out next year!"
He gently let go to let his son pick up the box. Charles' heart squeezed in anguish. Junior had missed a whole year now. His friends had moved up a year in school. His dad had become a real supervillain. There was so much adjusting to do.
"Wanna play?" the boy said with a grin. "I got Smash Sister."
"Alf, no, we are delivering present to poor kids throughout the world. We don't have time to-"
"You can stop time," the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Charles blinked and filed that information down the little drawer in his head that told him to avoid certain people. Granted, it was not all that much more in the balance after having erased the Joker from existence, but okay, he did not know many other metas that could do all the things attributed to the Wishmaker so far.
"Yeah, but…" The Wishmaker helplessly gestured, the visible upper half of his face a clear show of 'God, I don't want to be near those people any longer than strictly necessary'.
Junior sensed the perfect opportunity, just like his father would have. His boy climbed over the railing and brought his hands together under his chin. "Please, mister, I never had a Triple S console. All my friends had them, but they wouldn't let me borrow them."
The mexican woman who had to be related to the boy patted Junior's shoulder. It was a genial act, very much that of a parent that had heard a fib or two. Somehow, though, the Wishmaker did not pick up on it.
"Why do I do anything?" he groaned, but his eyes were smiling. "Sure, let's pause our night of generous gifting to play Smash Sisters Ultimate. It's the season for virtual beatings, after all."
The sleigh inflated like a balloon under their feet. What used to be a vehicle large enough for three or so people sitting side-by-side had swelled to be as wide as a house. And the giant bag of toys had slid way back to leave room for a couch, three armchairs and a TV, linked to absolutely nothing but nonetheless displaying a video game's title screen. With a chocolate fountain and a bar to the side.
Junior and that Alf kid bolted to be the first to sit. Then the arguing for the first player's controller started.
Tears came to his eyes. Again. He laughed. He had to laugh. He was hearing Junior's voice again. Seeing him bicker with kids his age. Having fun. Not even realizing the terrible hole he had left in his father's heart when he…
The mexican mother rubbed circles on his back, and kindly let him blubber about his Junior, his boy, being so beautiful, so alive. Every single moment of humiliation, of pain, of despair, it had all been worth it, because his son was back. There would be time for the adjustment later. Years. Long, full happy years together.
A warm cup was pushed in his hands, and he did not even question where any of them had gotten hot chocolate at this time. Or why the elves were carrying them on trays like waiters in a Christmas-themed bistro. It was a night for miracles.
"Creator, what is this device?" the silver-skinned elves leaned curiously over the children who had gotten stuck on the character select mode.
"It's a video game console. Or, as some adults would call them: 'The Source of All of Societies' Problems'."
Charles carefully did not nod in agreement, seeing as the Wishmaker was obviously sarcastic. Video games were not awful, per say. They simply were inferior to kites in every conceivable ways.
The she-elf, however, gasped in horror and clung to the Wishmaker.
"I was kidding, children."
The male elf flinched and struck out whatever he'd been writing in his notebook.
"Jesús, you have to play with us. It's funnier with lots of people."
The Wishmaker smirked, bemused. He glanced quickly at the reindeer he had frozen in time, took off his Santa hat and beard and just plopped down on top of Alf. Laughter and shouting ensued. It was strangely endearing. Perhaps it was being reunited with Junior after all those years, but the Wishmaker was acting… like a disaster of a human being. And brotherly. But mostly, like a disaster.
The mother's fond yet exasperated mumbling confirmed that he wasn't the only parent thinking it.
"Come on, Dad! We're doing team battles!"
Charles grabbed the controller his son offered, hook up an arm around him, and shouted "Hell yeah!"