Work Text:
Charles McNider hadn't worn his goggles in forty-four hours and counting, and the surges of panic when he noticed the lack of pressure against his face were finally subsiding. He didn't hear the ghost of his daughter. He didn't see the swirling emptiness of the Shadowlands. He was just washing his face in a hotel bathroom, wearing a set of pajamas Stripesy had lent him, before he set out for Indiana in the morning. It was unbelievably normal.
The commotion he could hear in his previously-empty hotel room…well, that sort of thing had been normal too, once. It was a sign how out of practice he was that neither his goggles nor his glasses were within reach, but at least no one had turned on the—
Were those wingbeats?
"Stop that," a familiar voice chided, and Charles relaxed. Just the Shade making a dramatic entrance, and that wasn't exactly normal but it wasn't unwelcome either.
Charles cleared his throat. "Uh, Shade?"
"Hello, Charles," the Shade said, sounding harried, and his voice dropped as if he were speaking to someone else. "I’m doing you a favor, you ungrateful beast, remove your claws at once—"
And in response, an even more familiar hoot.
It couldn't be, not after so long—even so, Charles rushed back into the room, taking in the tableau visible in the darkness—
The Shade was standing in the middle of the room, shadows thrown protectively in front of his face to fend off a perturbed owl gripping his arm. The bird clicked its beak, plumage puffing in irritation, and even from the back he knew every bar on those feathers. "Hootie?!"
Hootie's head swiveled, and he swore the owl looked as taken aback as Charles must have. He held out his arm automatically, gloves be damned, and quick as a Flash Hootie flew over to alight on his striped sleeve. Hootie crooned contentedly, feathers flattening to normal, headbutting him with great affection.
"It’s really you," he said, laughing, a little more of the weight in his heart easing as he nuzzled Hootie's face. He was well-fed, feathers neat and glossy—taken care of. He looked at the Shade, smiling proudly, and shook his head in happy disbelief. "Shade, how—"
"He’s been nesting in JSA headquarters since your disappearance," the Shade answered, frowning as he noticed the puncture marks on his own sleeve. "And quite frankly should be used to my face by this point."
Charles would save his questions, starting with how Shade knew where the JSA headquarters were, for later. For now, he'd stick with how the Shade looked almost embarrassed about it. "You looked after him?"
The Shade gave a noncommittal hum. "Your owl kept the headquarters admirably pest-free of his own accord. I simply dropped in from time to time. In all those years, he utterly failed to accept that you were dead and gone." The Shade met Charles's eyes, just for a moment, just long enough for Charles to see the naked regret on his face. "Wiser than I, I suppose."
Even abandoned, he doubted HQ's rodent population alone could sustain a tame owl. Not for ten years, living indoors, waiting for his partner's return. "Thank you," he said, sincerely
"Don’t thank me," the Shade snapped. Briefly startled at his own outburst, he cleared his throat, dismissively waving a hand. "It's hardly deserved. You wouldn't have been a decade lost in the Shadowlands without me."
"You're right," said Charles, gently setting Hootie down in his open suitcase. Chirping agreeably, Hootie nestled down into his dirty clothes. "I'd be dead."
"Yes. Well." The Shade evidently couldn't argue with that. "In any case," he said, "you can leave all this behind, Charles. All those years, trapped in shadows…You can start over."
"Right," he said, faintly. He'd barely processed being out of the Shadowlands yet, much less returning to his wife (widow?). The son he'd never met.
Leaving his mantle to another, a bright and eager young woman who hadn't seen her friends and family die because of it.
Starting over wasn't the right phrase. Moving on? Moving forward? Maybe. He had time to figure it out, finally. He had options.
And after the last few days, surely he wasn't the only one weighing those.
"Shade…" Charles hesitated. "Richard." The Shade's eyes widened, snapping to his—guess he wasn't used to going by that name, either. "What about you? What are you going to do now?"
"Oh? Keeping an eye on old foes?" He smiled, the same wicked smile he'd seen in their clashes before, which didn't have the same effect with a stray feather sitting unnoticed on his lapel.
"On old friends," Charles said, firmly. "You’re not a villain anymore."
The Shade scoffed, straightening a cuff. "A soft spot does not a hero make."
"I wasn’t saying it did. A soft spot for a villain didn't turn me to a life of crime, after all."
The Shade's—Richard's—look of surprise was almost comical. But more than that, it made Charles a little sad. He must have known that Charles thought of him as a friend, too. Right? Even if he didn't quite realize it himself until, when worst came to worst, the Shade desperately tried to save his life?
"Well," Richard said, expression visibly smoothing over. "I’m considering a spell in Blue Valley."
"What? Really?" Wherever he'd imagined the Shade spending his days off, it wasn't in a homey little town.
"It's rather livelier than one might expect," he said drily, and Charles supposed he couldn't argue with that. "What with the overabundance of children eager to throw themselves into danger."
Oh. Huh. The Shade, officially joining the side of angels, helping a new generation of heroes take down the old teammates he had only ever seemed to disdain…that did suit him. "They'll need as many allies as they can get."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I'm simply curious how this turns out."
Just like he was simply curious how Hootie was doing. "Even so…thank you, Richard."
Richard frowned, distinctly uncomfortable. "I said—"
"I know what you said. I'm thanking you anyway." Charles stepped forward and held out his hand, waiting for Richard to shake it. When he did take his hand, hesitantly, he gave it a gentle squeeze—and shivered involuntarily, the warmth of his skin feeling like an electric shock after all this time.
And Richard, gone absolutely still, must have felt it too.
Charles had gone a decade without touching anyone—anyone real. It hadn't felt like it, at the time. If he'd truly experienced the passage of time, been able to count each day, each year, he might have gone mad.
Even if it hadn't felt like a decade, his body knew it had been a long, long time without the warmth of another's touch.
How long had it been for the Shade?
Taking a steadying breath, Charles took a step closer to him, squeezed his arm with his other hand. Richard's eyes widened, pupils huge in the darkness.
"Well," he said, voice high and nervous, "now that I've facilitated this touching reunion, I'll leave you two lovebirds be." But he didn't move—he very deliberately didn't move—and Charles suddenly remembered the first time he held his hand out to a wild owl, lost and alone, who’d crashed through his windowpane.
"Human contact can boost your immune system, did you know that? Besides the obvious psychological benefits, it lowers blood pressure, steadies the heart rate, and a whole host of other useful effects. Humans need touch."
"It's a bit late for that, Charles," the Shade said stiffly. "I haven’t been human for centuries."
"Even if that were true—which I don't believe, by the way—" Charles hesitated, belatedly realizing he wasn't just saying this for Richard's sake. "I am."
"Oh," Richard said, softly, his fingers tightening reflexively against Charles's own. "In that case…it's the least I can do, I suppose." He swallowed, brows furrowed, squeezing his fingers once more.
Taking pity on the man, Charles stepped closer, sliding his arm around Richard's back. And slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand from Richard's and tugged him into a full hug. "There we go," he said, comfortingly, as much for himself as for the Shade.
"Yes, yes, hardly worth the fanfare." Richard's hands were light on his back, at first, tentative; but then his breath hitched, suddenly, and he abruptly melted into his touch. Charles pulled him tighter, closer, and marveled at how warm he was in contrast to the chill of his shadows.
Richard’s hand was clenched in his shirt, arms clutching him almost tight enough to hurt, like Charles was his only lifeline out of the consuming darkness of the Shadowlands. And whatever Richard thought, the heart beating rapidly against his own felt so very human.
Charles closed his eyes, letting the comforting darkness envelop him, feeling their hearts beat in sync, their pulses settling to a calm, steady rhythm.
Physician, heal thyself.
Until the hoot directly in his ear made them both nearly jump out of their skin.
"Hootie," Charles scolded, laughing as he did, as the Shade grumbled something about unseemly jealousy and stepped away. Hootie, undeterred, settled on Charles' shoulder and cooed sweetly.
Despite the interruption, Richard looked considerably less tense than before—less tense than he'd ever seen him, actually, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips no matter how put out he attempted to look.
"You know," Charles said, a plan forming even as he spoke, "It's a logistical nightmare to take public transportation with an owl. And Hootie enjoys it even less than I do."
"I'd offer a ride," Richard said, gesturing in a way that somehow suggested a shortcut through the Shadowlands, "but I don't expect you'd enjoy the commute at the moment."
"Not that. Would you mind watching him for a few days, until I get settled?"
He sighed theatrically. "I do so look forward to more surprise pellets among my personal effects."
"And when you bring him by," Charles said, watching the implication dawn on Richard's face, "you can stay for tea."
"I'm very picky about my tea preparation," Richard said, voice as soft as his eyes.
Charles smiled, completely unsurprised to hear it. "So teach me."
Richard took his hand in his once more, briefly squeezing it, and Charles felt the sharp edges of a business card against his palm. "Well, then," he said, holding out his arm for Hootie, "do call when you're ready to learn."
Charles gave Hootie a last scritch, gently extracting a tie from his beak, before handing him to the Shade. "See you soon."
Hootie settled on Richard's arm, looking thoroughly unimpressed by his perch slowly dissolving into darkness. "Until then." And then they vanished, leaving Charles with a smile on his face and a card in his hand.
The Shade, giving him his business card. Who'd have thought?
…a business card with no contact information on it.
Well, things were never going to be completely normal. And all things considered, Charles was just fine with that.