Maribat March 2021

Miraculous Side Effects

Every hero has weakness, something has the power to stop them. A smart hero would keep it to themselves. A trusting hero would allow themselves to be weak in the presence of those they trust. It was hard to tell which Batman and his team were. 

They had weakness of course, but they didn't go around flaunting it around the Watchtower. But a lesser known fact, one only known by the founding members, is that they had bad days. 

Like on the days Bruce was alone in the Manor, Alfred would catch him starring at an old portrait, one depicting a six year old Bruce and his parents. He would stand just stand there, craning his neck up to see it, oblivious to the broken mug at his feet or the tears dripping on to his shirt.

Or Jason's Pit Madness. It's good most of the time, he's learned to control it. Except for the harder days. When his eyes were especially green and his weapons looked extra appeasing. Those are the days he spends locked in a warehouse, with his guns close enough for comfort, but far enough so that the Madness couldn't reach them without him.

Even there newest member, Bruce's oldest biological kid. She came from Paris apparently, had a run in with some guy terrorizing the city with ancient magic. By the time she came back she had a dead boyfriend, a box of tiny demigods, and an ever-fleeting memory. The girl had given away guardianship to Bunnix, a former teammate who visited a lot. 

It was widely known that magic worked differently to everyone. The previous guardian lost his memories all at once, because it was likely the villain would have interrogated him. But the girl, she was safe, no one had immediate interest in the information she had. She didn't lose her memories instantly. Though they wouldn't stay forever. Guardians always lose their memories, no matter the circumstance. It was the oldest rule in the grimoire.

So she slowly lost herself. The magic users of the Justice League estimated that by the time she was twenty, she'd loss the memories forever. From birth all the way to the last day of forgetting. She still have her instinct, she'd have muscle memory, and her schooling would not be all lost. 

"Tim, Tim, Tim I, I, I can't remember him." The girl cried to her brother, her voice barely over a whisper, desperately gripping a tear stained photo. It was of her and a blonde boy with green eyes. In the picture, both pairs of eyes shone with love. Likely directed at each other at the time. But the girl couldn't recognize the blonde boy. 

It saddened the family, to see her suffer and be able to do nothing.

"Shh, shh, it's okay bean, it'll be okay." All her brother could do was watch, as the memory of his sister's beloved left her mind.

Their father searched far and wide for a cure to her plight. But no matter where he searched or who he asked, the answer was the same; 'There is no force to be found capable of restoring a guardian's memory.'

Days pass.

Then months.

Then years.

Then, one day, on a mid-August morning, she woke up. To an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place. 

Well, she wouldn't know, because she didn't know what familiar would be. She laid there, thinking to herself, despite the emptiness she felt. Minutes could have past, maybe hours, before she stood to walk around the room. She was amazed at her silent steps, she couldn't hear them at all. To test the limits of her inaudibleness, she stomped her foot to the ground with surprising force. It was quite loud.

Unbeknownst to the girl, her experiment woke the rest of the house. 

She continued to walk around the room, marveling at the drawings pinned on the walls, the photos standing on the nightstand, the clothing hanging in the closet.  She even opened the previously closed drapes. Which revealed the bright sun, and illuminated the room. She liked it. She was about to pick up the mess of fabric on the desk left of the bed until she heard the door be knocked on. 

"Pix? You ok?" Said a deep voice from the other side. Something in her told her to be on edge and moved her hand towards the side of the bed (which was between her and the door, so her finger lacing itself through a loop and hand grabbing a circular object was hidden from any possible intruders). But another something in her told her to trust the voice, that it was safe.

"Mari, we're coming in." A different voice said, it sounded older. The door creaked as it opened, and revealed a lot of people. But they looked familiar. She was sure she had seen them before...

Yes! They were in the photos she saw on the night stand! They would surely know something.

"Hi! I saw you all in the photos on the nightstand. Do I know you guys?" She tilted her head innocently, ignorant to the confused and surprised expressions on them.

"What? Cupcake, what are you talking...about," another person spoke, before his eyes widened, "No. No. No. Nononono, no, you can't, youyouyou can't be, you-you have to remember- please, no- oh god, please no." He said, tears building in his eyes as he covers his mouth with his hand. 

The rest the group seemed to come to a similar conclusion, based on their similar expressions. 

The girl didn't know why they were so sad, she tried to cheer them up, "oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry. I'll go if you want?"

That caused another wave of cries. 

"Um," she had no idea what to do. She doubted they'd want some stranger comforting them. Though she wasn't sure she was a stranger. The pictures she saw were of her and them. Maybe she knew them, "I saw a girl who looked like me in the pictures. Is that me?"

The second oldest one hadn't moved, he just stood there, staring at her. She didn't know how but she could tell how he really felt through his eyes. Even he was sporting tears. 

"No," he answered, voice carefully steady yet full of emotion, "her name was Marinette."