The Rebirthing of Two [Dusk/open but only if you follow post order]

He stood atop a city tower, the wind wiping his jacket around him violently. He looked down at the city and silently cursed himself, he was a hero, not just any hero. The surviving hero of the attack on DC and yet he hadn't even been here in time to stop the army of psycho paths who took a section o the city, not even three blocks away from him, hostage. His left hand held a crumpled newspaper, he hadn't even heard of this attack until it was over. He had been busy getting drunk to dull the pain of his life, he was nothing now, nothing but a piece of scum.

His blood shot eyes watched the people hustle around form point A to B, acting like they had business that mattered when really they were doing nothing at all. He craved to be them, craved to be normal, yet he was fated to be something else. There was a flash of green light as his ring hit the sun rays and danced on the chain around his neck, making him feel all too aware of what he was, who he was. This ring was only given to those of the strongest Willpower, or so they said, and those entrusted were meant to be guardians of there section of the universe, galactic police.....

His right hand ran through the unruly locks of hair on his head before coming down to rub the growing beard on his jaw line. His mind thinking of the two nameless heroes who had done his job while he was drinking his life away, he wanted to justify it, wanted to say the loss of his best friend and the vanishing of his only lover had done this to him but in reality he had done this to himself and he knew it. He hadn't even came in touch with his surviving team mates, Psi and Ki.

He exhaled and sat down on the lip of the building, knowing that he had work to do, things to make up for. His left hand let the paper go, let the wind catch it and allow it to take flight. With that same hand he cupped the green ring around his neck and pulled it free of the chain binding it, letting the metallic cord fall down to the earth stories below. It was time to grow up, time to stop letting his depression rule him, his right hand took the ring and held it between his index finger and thumb before he pushed his left middle finger through the A green light washing over him, his clothes vanishing under his Lantern suit, his beard vanishing in a wash of light ad his iris's turning emerald in color. He stood up and inhaled, "Where ever you are Terry, I'm sorry for being such a child." he spoke into the winds before lifting off of tower and flying downward toward the city, wanting the citizens to know he was back.

"Imposter.."

"Go home, kid. You're no Superman."

"Fake!"

The screams from the many people around the single individual had him flinch while he had taken cover next to a statue, standing on the concrete the statue of Superman had in Metropolis. Several Superheroes, such as Batman and Wonder-Woman, leaped up onto the statue, inching toward the person in the Red and Blue outfit. "You can't replace our Superman! You can't!" A whiplash of Wonder-Woman's rope came, grabbing onto the waist of the Kryptonian "hero".

Superman screamed in pain and his eyes burned red, moving his head down to face Wonder-Woman, red beams of light imploded and covered the whole area. The statue of Superman had fallen, the citizens of Metropolis around him were dead, even the heroes. What had he done? He fell onto his knees and screamed at the skies in pain. 

With a flash of pain and anger, the shirtless man woke up screaming. He huffed and puffed, looking around slowly and closing his eyes. It was only a dream. Christopher Kent walked toward the bathroom, and put his hands on the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror and the memory of the dream flashes over and over again in his head. It was his worst fear. He quickly turned on the sink and splashed water in his face, looking back up in the mirror with water dripping slowly.

He blinked and moved his hand over his beard, rubbing it and then dropping his hand back down. He moved his head to the side and opened his right eye, his heat vision activating and reflecting off the glass, burning the strands of hair on his chin, the hair that made the beard eventually falling to the floor. Quickly rubbing his face with the towel he walked out into the bed room. He sat on the bed once more and looked out the window.

Now.. he was in some dumpy Motel room in Detroit, he was traveling, trying to help all of the world the best he could. Slowly he moved his hand to his watch on his desk next to his head and put it on. It immediately wrapped around his wrist, the index finger of his right hand lightly tapped it. Blue dots moved across his body at a fast pace and he lifted his arms. The suit revealed itself on his body, blocking his skin. The red cape flowed down past his behind area, behind the knees it flapped.

He put his hand on the window and slid it to the left, he stepped out of it and moved back, with a burst of speed he took of through the skies of Detroit, looking around folding his arms as he floated down onto a building, watching cars go up and down the street.

He walked slowly along the side of the street, feeling a deep ache of aloofness bearing down upon him. His hood cascaded over his long, overbearing dirty blonde hair. People passed him; just another ruffian passing them by in their minds. The man had his hands tucked deep inside the hoody pockets, walking with the drifting weight that only a man with no purpose could. It was an overwhelming bewilderment that scoffed at him in every face of these normal looking men and women. They smiled and laughed as they went about their business, always seemingly knowing where they were going. All their destinations were crammed inside their heads. A to B was quite clear to them, the burning instinct of reaching site B driving each footstep. Footsteps were commonly easier, faster when fueled by purpose. Whether it be a father bringing home dinner for his two sons, or a fiance wanting to relax with her beloved after a long day at work, all of these faces had a place in this world. Their place had been solidified by their loved ones around them. Every where they went was dictates by their loved ones. The newlywed husband goes to work in hopes to one day afford a home for his pregnant wife. The teenager goes to school, knowing education is key to providing for a family. These people had things... people that they cared for. They all did these things... just for them. A goal was nay met by a selfish need in today's world. Despite contrary belief, the world had become a much more wonderful place to be. The idealization of what a person should be has been broadcast all over the world by media. Everyone aspires to be the best they can be, to be that ideal person for their loved ones.

What did he have?

Nothing anymore. He had started over, from scratch, again. He wandered through the dimmed streets of his old home of Detroit, the violet clouds illuminated by the setting crisp orange sun. The wind tossed the locks of hair that flew free from the cover of the hood. He huddled against the side of a post office building, sulking down to his rear on the sidewalk. The crowds had thinned as rush hour passed, leaving the man relatively alone on the dampened streets. If he were a weaker man, he would have given in to the hardened man's urges of needed an evening cigarette. However, the darker man he knew as father showed him the sins of a man destroying his own body. The blond sat alone, leaves carried from the suberbs rolling across the streets in the passing gust. A heavy sigh pushed past his once warm lips, the nip in the air chilling his spine. The gleam of the sun was almost blinding, putting a sense of a lens flare on his vision. His eyelids were forced to squint to protect his vision.

The lone street was a darker omen then thought. It was hard to see it as such as he sat there in a zen he hadn't felt since his return. Peace had settled on the beaten street, but only the peace before the storm. By night, the Motor City became much more than the husk of an Auto Goliath. In the absence of the greatest industry for the city, jobs were hard to find. Poverty hit worse in the streets here more than most cities. When a man falls on desperation, he shows you who he really is. It was a sad fact that many of the men who fell on hard times turned to crime and darkness to get by. It had been awhile since the titans such as Ford have had their glory here. However, much like the blond's history,

The Scars were Still Fresh.

Injustice; it had become a way of life to many around here. Where the working man made bottom dollar and barely made rent and those who gambled with the sharks won penthouses. Where the man with an honest paycheck made less than the fool with a death wish in his gang signs. It was a pathetic turn that the government often ignored. What did they know? They are all held up in their grand white buildings, passing decisions on people they barely recognize after elections. The disconnection had never been more apparent than in the broken state of the Motor City. The blond man had no idea what their governor was even up to, but it certainly wasn't trying to clean up the stain on his record; Detroit.

No one could ever seem to dampen the crime in the wounded city. It was simply, an easier life to live by the gun and the dollar than by the family and love. As the wind coursed through his fuzzy chin, he smiled at the thought that he'd gotten out of the death trap. He too once thought that the life of taking and never returning was best survival. In complete honesty with himself, the shadowed business could make him richer than any person that owned the houses he stole from. The blond extended his arms, resting his elbows on his knees with another dreary sigh.

He learned all too quickly what the dark life leads to...

Death and corruption are the only solaces. Sure, the money supports you, but you lose things far more important than cash. You become black, no longer a reflection of himself. His father had never been a nice person, but the change was evident when he began the midnight jewel raids. There came a more violent man; one you feared more than loved. His mother certainly thought so. She hadn't been seen since the blond was twelve. Even when you are entirely secure, you are consumed by desperation. You live by the heist and die by the heist, even when you have enough money to never need to perform such. It is a wicked obsession; a disease with no cure. A poison with no antidote. It makes you vile and soulless.

Soulless enough to kill your own son's fiance apparently...

It was thoughts like that that tugged at him. He felt as if his bottom ribs were sinking every time he thought of that wicked night. His fists tightened as he gritted his teeth. The blond stood slowly, using the building behind him as leverage. The wind passed by him once more, chilling his face, carrying messages. It spoke to him with foreboding worry of the night to come. All of the nights for the past two years had been full of horror and fear. Their Protector had become the legend of Washington D.C., but left behind the slummed city that desperately needed him. People here needed a watcher, a silent watchmen. The darkness had consumed his home for so long that he rarely remembered a time where he was unaware of it. It seemed that since the day the blond was conceived, he knew of the dark world he was encumbered with. The vile creatures praying on the innocent were in for a disturbing night. Injustice has been the face of Detroit for far too long. If the government refused to step in, then he would stand at in the face of the darkness and conquer its wicked omens; turning them into a plague upon all who use it. All who mug, will be beaten. All who steal, will be broken. All who believe, will prosper. This is the way of the Protector.

Carter flew through the cold, desolate streets. His flight leaving a blazing trail of green energy behind him, bathing the buildings as well as the darkened ally ways, His eyes burned with a fury as he went. They caught this city in the full unforgiving scope, Detroit was a city of evil, the broken were starved while the glutton's grew in power. He was disgusted with himself for not finding this pitfall of a city earlier and heated towards the others he called hero for not intervening here when it was oh so clear that they should.

A thought manifested in his mind's eye and he acted upon it, barreling down the main streets of they city to the center, toward the ever most center part of their down town, right into the core of this plague of darkness. There his feet touched down upon the tip of a giant fount, right in front of the water, citizens stopping and staring at him in a multitude of ways. Some in awe, others in fear, some hate, while a few held no emotion. His left hand went out, coils of emerald energy whipping out and through this area, latching onto building security cameras and the such, turning them all to face him. He would not wait for a news crew to appear here, no he would do there job for them.

"People of this Hell on Earth, you have been neglected far too long, by your government and by your nation's protectors. This wrong is going to be righted. To you out there who do harm to the helpless, remember my face, remember my face and fear the green light that will light eve the blackest of hiding places." As he spoke those words they appeared next to him like close captions for the cameras that didn't have audio ability. When he was finished with his message his feet lifted upward once more, him cascading upward into the night sky, leaving only a beautiful green beam trailing after him.

 He flew for half an hour before touching down on a seemingly empty street in this Devil City, there his right hand freed him of his ring and he pocketed it, his clothes returning and his hair sagging a bit. His eyes were no longer the dulled orbs they had been mere hours ago, now they had a purpose. A deathly purpose that he knew no one but someone with a will power like him could do..... well there was one other but that one other had died and Carter had never managed to bring him back, never managed to find him after he warned the entity within Terry about his death.

His thoughts had him trapped and he walked right into someone, "I apologize, stuck in my own mid." He said, looking up at the youth.

The hero had long been gone from action, fading away from the city streets where he prospered in the glare of justice. He had become much more rugged, more hardened. However, Carter maintained this prosperous beacon of light. His heart had been filled with a unrelenting purpose, fueled by memories from long ago. Memories of a destroyed city that had no help until he showed up. Memories of a city that was saved by the one he once called best friend. They knew him as 'The Protector' and more notably 'the Dusk'. Carter had no idea who this man was. The man they spoke of was a hero, a wicked savior upon humanity. It was true that he was these things, but that was not whom he knew best. Carter knew Terry Christopher Graves. Terry, the kind young man with a heart of gold. That was who he knew, this was his friend. The man who taught him that the ways of murder and death were not instruments of justice; that doing so only lead you down the dark path of the sinful.

Graves was a man of principle and love. Every act he made was inspired by his late fiance, to whom he still loved with every ounce of his very being. It was such a wonderful pride that was taken in every move he made. He knew each moment that he was doing the work of God and making his lost lover very, very proud. In such hectic, mournful existence, Terry always seemed to pull through. He always seemed to make his strength show in light, even in the darkest of times. It wasn't a physical strength by any means. Terry's strength came with his heart and soul. He had to have been withered and broken by his loss a long time ago, but he always weathered the storm and came out on top. Terry Graves was invincible not in his power, but his iron will and courage.

His heart was indestructible. It was an awe inspiring trait to all who knew him. Some people would be moved to suicide at a moment's notice of life's tragedies, but you would never find Terry in that situation. No matter how close he'd come, there was no way in Hell that he would ever claim his own life. No matter how great the suffering and anguish, Terry harbored it and pushed through. He was a testament that the human soul was indeed immortal. If only more of the world could see this, the anguish he goes through and still pulls out alive and well. He could inspire so many to push on and live. So many people who come so close to the end, could see that even heroes, come close. They could see that you could always walk away.

In his absence, since his untimely passing, Carter would protect the city that Terry once loved and called home. It was his calling. His honor. It was not only the honor of Terry that needed to be preserved; the honor of his late fiance, Amy needed to live on in justice. It was true that Carter had never heard much or knew much about the girl, but he knew that she meant a universe to his best friend. Her essence ran through his veins and drove his every move. Her love filled his will to go on, to prosper despite the despair that crept into his soul on a daily basis. She was why he was a hero of the people. She was why ventured out into the night as the Protector. He never wanted another soul, another lovely woman like her to be murdered. He never wanted anyone else to lose someone just as wonderful and have to go through the horrid anguish of living without them.

The least Carter could do was defend her honor as well.

Without even being mindful of his current state, the Lantern pumped into someone carelessly. He had looked up to spot this youth looking as suspicious as ever. The young man's hood was dashed over his head, blocking out most visible features. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, as if ready to pull out a weapon at any moment. This would definitely put anyone on edge.

However, the youth did not take a threatening tone nor posture. Instead, he erected his posture slowly and nodded respectfully.

”Mmm-Sorry sir, wasn't.. minding myself there either...” The youth spoke softly, in a hushed tone that was barely audible. He stayed hunched as he turned and walked on away from Carter, as if trying to evade his own embarrassment. His old and worn Nike shoes scoffed the pavement and he stumbled away from him.

Right as the youth was nearly out of Carter's range of hearing, the footsteps suddenly stopped. Surely, the young man wasn't as innocent as he had portrayed. The motive was probably to lure the only other man on the street into a false sense of security so he could strike when Carter felt safest. Even though there had been a glimpse of hope for humanity, it was quickly crushed upon hearing the man's footsteps come to a sudden halt.

However, instead of what appeared to be an assault...



...Carter saw a bright smile gracing this man's features.

”Look, I know you've been out of it for awhile, but really? Changing in the middle of an empty sidewalk? There ARE traffic cams ya know... You've gotten rusty Carter!” He chuckled audibly, lifting a gentle hand into a familiar wave.

It was... him.

Standing there... like he never died. Standing there like he'd never been gone. Standing there like this was a simple meeting, not the return of Carter's best friend. He stood in the dim light of the street lamp, showing a brighter smile than Carter had ever seen on him. It was so full of hope, yet so betraying to himself. He looked so happy, but it looked as if his smile was stricken by a tugging force. His words, his chuckle, they were certainly sincere. However, that smile warmed a heart, yet confused a soul. It felt forced, but once it was forced, the joy was very much real.


Terry Graves, was real.

Carter was half absorbed in his thoughts when he bumped into the youth, thinking that maybe the kid was a set up at first until he turned around and came face to face with the smile of a dead man, his eyes locked with the orbs of the man he considered a brother before his death. He stood and looked at the face, taking in each little part that let him know it truly was who he was thinking. The stubble was what really gave him away, that mixed with his jutting chin and long hair.

His mind cut back to his time in the other plane, where he was battling himself and other forces merely to return to life. Some how Dusk had appeared there and he had warned the entity that was residing in Terry about Terry's coming death, in the months to pass he always thought the entity had failed in saving his friend yet here he was. His warning had come through but had been delayed.

His eyes snapped back to the area before him, throwing him out of his mind. He nodded at his friend, knowing his words would be stuck in his throat, unable to say the right thing. How could you? how could you possibly say anything to a friend that had died, oh hey how are you? How was dying? he knew the answers anyways, he knew the pain of death and yet maybe he didn't know what Terry had felt and Terry most likely didn't understand the pain Carter went through, bringing his body back from nothing but a pile of ashes.

He smiled and opened his mouth, " Took you long enough." he said before walking forward and wrapping his arms around his brother. "We have a lot of catching up to do and this isn't the place. Let's go to where ever you've been shacking up here."

Carter merely stood and watched the man move as if he was under water, he felt as if his friend wasn't here. That he was watching a Terry bot on auto pilot. Maybe it was coming back from death, shaking Terry up. His eyes broke off of his distant friend and onto the sparse living quarters, He thought back of the Head Quarters in D.C., thinking of home and how appealing his bed looked over the faded mustard colored couch before him. It would do he thought before looking around more, the walls were stained with age and smoke, the person who had resided in this pit before Terry had been a smoker, to that there was no doubt, and had left his or her mark on the walls without even meaning too.

His mouth opened and his left hand rose to cover it, stifling the yawn he had created. His legs carried him forward into the small apartment, it was just as dank as Terry's old place and it brought a soft smile to Carter's face, some things never change. He watched his friend move off into the kitchen and heard more curses under the distracted man's breath. He was beginning to think of the past, most of Terry in the past. It didn't take too long for him to realize that Terry never used profanity to such a degree as now, in fact this was the most he had ever heard from the quiet reserved hero.

He wanted to take Terry out of his haze for but a moment if it were possible so he followed him into the kitchen and sat down on one of the wooden stools, it creaking under him as he adjusted himself. " Do you remember when we were called into help with the invasion on Gotham? When we saw those two rookies fighting off hordes of androids on their own with no help? They were out numbered and out gunned but they stood their ground. Psi and the ice girl. Tell me what you were feeling that day when you saw all those robots flocking onto those two young heroes." He said, not uite too ure yet where he was going with his thought process.

He kept his eyes deeply focused on his fridge, as if by staring at it for a longer amount of time would make food magically appear within the cooling unit. Terry hunched over, feeling the pain of the long night in his knees. Another exasperated moan of ache came from his throat. His eyebrows lowered in thought of what exactly he wanted from the fridge. For a few seconds, he stood there inanimately. He eventually gave up on any hard thought and just yanked out a glass Fanta bottle and popped the cap off.

”I REALLY shouldn't keep buying these things. They are much more expensive than what they are worth..,” He spoke, once again not even sparing a glace at Carter across the room. His eyes instead stared intently, for the first time Carter had ever seen, almost disgustingly at his favorite drink. The young man fumbled it in his right hand as he strode over to his wooden dining table.

”Whoever the hell came up with the idea to use cans instead of bottles is stupid I swear. Now I have to pay out the ass for the stuff I love.” He pointlessly grumbled as he kicked the chair out. It scooted outward away from the table. He immediately hooked it with his other foot and plopped down in the seat.

”Yeah yeah, of course I do. They did a damn good job..,” He finally seemingly responded to something Carter said. He folded his arms down on the table and laid his head down. He rested his chin on his wrist as he stared aimlessly at the wall.

”What did I feel on about it? Is that what you asked?,” He spoke again, yet still not even looking in Carter's direction. He shifted upwards, using a free hand to ruffle his hair. His eyebrows narrowed in determination as if searching for these memories was a deep struggle. It was a simple question, not like he'd presented a seventeen step Calculus problem to the guy. Yet there he was, seemingly searching through the darkest crevices of his mind just to find an answer to the relatively easy question. Hell, there wasn't even a right answer. It was purely based off opinion. Certainly he remembered the incident because he just responded in pride of the two heroes. However, finding his feelings on the matter seemed interminably difficult.

Terry slipped the tip of his index finger between his lips. He nibbled incessantly at the hangnail bugging him to no end. Carter was smarter than that though. He knew that Graves must have became aware of how silly he looked unable to find the answer to that question. So deflect the awkward span of time and give him more time to think, the young man chose to nibble at his finger. Between his teeth, he could feel the loose skin coming free. It burnt in a searing pain, but he proceeded to tear it free. The skin came off and left a pink under-layer become exposed to the open world.

In a single moment, it seemed that his thick, entirely disconnected attitude was met with this fidgety counterpart that was driving him nuts. The hangnail was torn free, but Carter could see that he was clearly still gnawing at the edge of his finger. Anything to distract him for awhile. He was nervous, something that Terry scarcely was. It was true that he was always stressed and in some sort of pain, but he was always so certain of it. He always seemed to know where he was and what he was feeling. Graves had always had this foundation of what was going on. It was this level headed behavior that made him excellent on the battlefield of crime, being able to hold is sharp tone of darkness and fear, even in the face of certain death.

It was this very same determination that lead Carter to believe that murder was a sin and unnecessary when dealing with the forces of evil. Within the field of war, Dusk was able to knock some sense into Carter, reminding him that murder makes you no better than the men you kill. It was just a cliché goody two shoes ideal in his eyes until that dark night atop the White House when MeltDown's mercs attacked. He was able to see the tears in the man's eyes as Dusk tried revive him. Although working for an evil cause, he was a son and most likely a father. Killing this man created an insoluble sorrow for a dad and a orphaned son. Terry taught Carter that death was like a water drop in a pond. It is not solely the area of impact that was affected, ripples coarse through the pond outward from the impact. And you will never know fully how much these ripples will change the pond its in.

Terry suddenly winced and cupped his hand into a fist quickly.

”I felt...proud. Glad to see we weren't alone. I felt happy that you had such a strong woman at your side...,”