Dad Lore Chapter 25 - Small, but Granted

Taro’s shoulders slumped even half an hour after that… woman had left him with what was obviously a threat. A very threatening threat. 

He wished he could say he was out of his depths, he really wished he could. He wished he could say this was an entirely new experience for him, because then he could excuse himself for being flatfooted— it was not, so he couldn’t. 

Unfortunately for him, his (somewhat) experience from the last three times this happened to him did not help him one bit. Instead, all it reminded him was to be extra cautious from this moment on. 

The worst part was that this woman — Diana Prince — was leagues above his last three similar experiences. 

“Troublesome.” These warrior types were never his favorite kind of people to deal with, and this was one of the reasons why. 

At least she hadn’t challenged him to a deathmatch and jumped at him the very next second, not that it added anything in her favor. 

“Ahh.” He exhaled, looking visibly more tired as the breath left his lungs. His first conversation with a heroine — that was more than curt words and single syllable replies — and every bias and paranoia he felt towards them was justified and magnified. 

He stood up from his chair, already feeling drained to his bones, and decided to return to Raven and check on her progress with the magic doctor. Waiting around was apparently more safer than walking through these halls. 

He silently opened the door and stepped in, only to be slightly surprised when he saw her looking straight at him. 

“You’re one ooze away from depression.” She explained, pointing at his current mental state. 

The doctor wasn’t in, and Raven looked wholly the same, so that was good news at least. Which was probably the only good thing he should expect from this place. 

“He’s truly sealed away.” She answered his silent question, reaching up slowly to touch the gem on her head. It resembled a red bloodstone that sometimes looked like it had a swirl of black ink swimming in it, or it could just be the lighting. 

“He says it’ll hold, but circumstances affect outcomes. Also something about a door ajar.” She narrated with the excitement a child had when sleeping. “You?” 

“Heroes. Trouble.” The dysfunctional pair looked at each other with detached sympathy. 

Raven might not know what exactly happened but she had a good read on Taro — at least when he wasn’t hiding it behind his mind—to know when something truly got to him and when it was simply an annoyance. This was a few steps above the former. 

“Home?” Her lack of instant reply made his moustache twitch. 

Raven scratched her hand, a gesture that could be taken as embarrassment or awkwardness, but no, it was simply her scratching her hand. 

“He said one of them might want to speak with me before I leave.” One of the heroes she meant. 

Taro took off his glasses, blew on it, and used his dirty apron to clean it. He looked at his watch, it read a few minutes past noon, and made a few calculations in his head. 

He was already a few days behind on the projected sales he needed to keep his ledger above the red zone. His shop was still profitable, but barely, and those business strategy books could only go so far. 

If he opened it around 3pm and kept it open till midnight to catch a few late night sales, and repeated it for a week or two straight, he projected that his sales curve would rise to where it was before, right above the damn grave line. 

“Okay.” He simply said and sat on one of those heavenly chairs he’d once been foolish enough to walk away from. 

. 

……........ 

. 

[Rachel Roth, currently traumatized and recently adopted] 

Her breath left her in short pauses, an archaic technique that forced her into constant focus via interrupted breathing, and one that she subconsciously found herself falling back to after her latest series of misfortune. 

She could tell that Taro didn’t like her using it because of how unhealthy and needlessly risky it was— that was what he’d intended. The real reason was because it made it all the more harder to forget, or to start the process of forgetting and moving past what had happened the previous week. 

He probably wanted to throw her one of those weird meditating books he had on his shelves, but he held back on account of wanting to give her some time to herself. 

The fact that his mind was more accessible to her now than it’s ever been meant that she could feel his intent of things he couldn’t put into words, or was perhaps too lazy to. His considerations were… appreciated(?). 

She had ended up finding herself more motivated and determined to ensure that a repeat of that day never comes to pass, but before any of that, she had to pull herself together and make sure she was mentally strong enough to proceed. 

The worst part about being an emotionally stunted empath/telepath/psychic was the ability to objectively diagnose her mental state with pinpoint accuracy. 

And right now, the last thing she needed was her emotions making a worse mess of her fractured state. Some had tried seeping through during some… complicating events, but they were quickly taken care of before they could leave a mark. She’d deal with her emotions when, and only when, she made sure she was sufficiently mentally stable. 

As for her father, her progenitor (it sounded distant enough), Dr. Fate said that he was in a more complete seal than he had previously been in, meaning that there had been a few leaks in the seal, most likely due to the work of one of the endless groups of Acolytes that had managed to get their hands on her, however brief it was. 

For one, she wouldn’t be hearing his voices in her head any time soon as that would be a sign of the seal weakening. For another, she didn’t need to worry about the seal weakening every year around the period of her birthday. That had been such a great relief. 

While Dr. Fate couldn’t be sure of how long the seal will remain strengthened at this point in time, he reassured her that the complex of the gem on her head ensured that it would be sufficiently longer—

“— the lengthened duration doesn’t translate for its integrity. It can be weakened from this physical dimension through you, that hasn’t changed unfortunately. The circumstances around its integrity will affect the outcome.”

That had been such a great thing to hear as it joined the growing list of assurances for her to try living, but she wouldn’t take it, not yet. 

She still had the Acolytes to worry about, but they weren’t that high on the list. 

This past week had left her feeling slightly unburdened for the first time for what felt like a lifetime, but she didn’t completely trust the feeling as she still waited for the other shoe to drop. 

It… honestly wouldn’t have surprised her if this was another of his sick jokes. It felt too real and too close. 

No matter how much she wanted to grab hold of the warmth and freedom that was suddenly all around her, she didn’t. She couldn’t let herself trust blindly or foolishly hope for it, not after what just happened. Not after all the nightmarish images that plagued her waking and dreaming moments. 

People would never understand; they could never comprehend the scale of terror such an act would bring. To her, simple comforts might as well be temptations he crafted. They would never understand. 

Maybe Dr. Fate could, she couldn’t read him, but that mattered little. 

So she was grateful that while Taro wanted to show her that she could rest a little, he still gave her enough room for her to be the judge of how true it was. 

Now if only she could trust herself to judge how true and how fake everything was. 

At least, that was one thing that hasn't changed yet: how hard it was for her to make a decision. God, she was really broken. 

As for Taro, well, he was still Taro. If she could feel pity, she would have heaped it on herself for how that seemed to comfort her. 

She’d been the one to leave the room when her visitor came, mostly to Superman’s confusion, but she felt for some reason that Taro was scared/terrified to go outside. Or whatever it was that particular mix of emotions was. 

He took her to the small growth of trees in the middle of the building because he felt she needed fresh air and some vibrant colors than the pale one she’d been in. It was a spontaneous decision for him, she had felt, because he took one look at her and felt that the pale room and her pale skin might affect her mind and make her more depressed. 

It wouldn’t. It was a stupid deduction that didn’t make any sense but he was oddly sympathetic about it, so she left it at that. He was the one with the healthy emotions between the both of them, so he would know what was supposedly good for her. 

“I brought some snacks with me in case you were hungry.” He handed her a paper bag. “Straight from Bernie’s. He runs a spot near Metropolis Central Park. He sometimes adds extra pickles on my burgers, a super nice guy.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that so she just took the bag and opened it to find a freshly hot burger. She stared at the burger for a moment because it was strange that she just randomly got a burger. 

He mistook her lack of reaction for a stunned reaction and chuckled abashedly. “I flew a little too fast and they got cold so I reheated them.” He pointed at his eyes. 

Why— oh, laser eyes. Must be convenient. 

“How are you feeling?” His features softened. She obviously didn’t trust it, even Nightwing had been partly genuine when they first met. 

…. She was wrong because all she got from his unfiltered sympathy. He wasn’t putting on a mask, nor did he even try to guard any part of his expression. 

“Alive. I am thankful for it, for however long it will last.” She said, and saw him turned sad. Not because he was feeling sad, but because he was feeling sad for her. 

It wasn’t simply sympathetic, she could tell. His emotions naturally took on the bleary tint of sadness just for her. 

Emotions shouldn’t work like that. 

“I don’t feel much. Too risky.” She said, taking a bite out of the burger and idly noted how good it tasted. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. 

“Why? It isn’t your fault.” She remarked easily. Taro was right, but not completely, she thought as she looked at Superman. 

He was right that Superman was probably the most human among the heroes, but that wasn’t it, not really. He was like a nebula of emotions that wanted to feel what others felt. If he could, he would happily take on their darkest emotions just so he could help them go through what they were feeling. 

Even as he kept asking simple questions and she kept replying with detached ease, he still seemed to value it. It was weird but she couldn’t help but think of him as someone who would do something completely illogical and useless — like keeping watch as a seedling went through its years as it grew into a flower, into a tree, and wither away in death — and call it one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. 

That was just how vast his emotional range was—so big that it could afford to feel for the smallest and unimportant things. 

Unfortunately, he was the worst person to be around for someone like her. She’d told him exactly that and he nodded in understanding, never once taking offense or feeling inadequate. Instead he only felt sadder that he couldn’t help her. 

And that sadness only increased when he remembered that she was an empath. 

“Such a gift, and you can’t even feel for yourself. How tragic.” He felt it was one of the greatest tragedies ever. 

He was like the sun, willingly giving everything he had because he had so much more to give. But she found that she didn’t like the constant shining rays all that much. She preferred the dusk; the waning sun and its promise of the coming darkness — that was what Taro felt like. 

Compared to Superman’s blinding sun, Taro was like a spark. She was more comfortable in the dark anyway, all she needed was a little spark every now and then. 

But still, she could understand why Superman was the greatest hero on earth. Even Taro easily attested to it, despite his aversion to the hero. 

“Do you have anything you want to do? Like a bucket list or something.”

“A bucket list?”

“A list of things you want to experience at least once. It could be anything; places, food, activities. I’m still a way off from doing half of what is on mine.” He chuckled, and despite being an alien, she felt he was doing a better job at being human than anyone else she’s met. “So, how about it? Want to start one?”

She sat there, in the little green spot, and thought about it but ultimately couldn’t find one good thing about such a thing. 

“No. It feels too hopeful.”

“Too hopeful?” He muttered, and for the first time Raven felt Superman’s very own sadness. She blocked it off as soon as it hit her. 

“Being hopeful is not a crime, Raven. Wanting to feel something should not be a wish. It is something that is a core part of who we are. Anything that denies us such a blessing, Raven, that thing is truly evil.”

“I know. It gave birth to me after all.”

And just like that, other than her, he hates Trigon the most out of everyone she’s met. 

Looking at him, she slowly realized something. 

Normal people— those who at least had baseline emotions, of any kind, good or bad— would look up at Superman and would instantly wish to be like him, even for a short second. They would probably be willing to sacrifice everything just for that single moment. 

To Raven, however, the pure beauty of his very nature was the reason why he would be the second to last thing she would ever wish to be. It was a beauty so pure and free that it would probably be the most deadliest poison to her. 

…. Or maybe the problem was her and she did not actually understand a thing. What would she know about the feelings bound in a heartfelt wish? 

They spoke a little after that, which was mostly just Superman trying to see if he could coax a single want out of her. He failed. 

It was not that she did not have little things she wanted, but that she never let herself want more for it that would make her want to have it. 

Well, she did say that she was a work in progress. 

Maybe if he asked sometime later, then she could tell him of something she wanted, just not now. 

She offhandedly reminded him that Taro still needed to open his shop today, which he easily accepted and brought her back to the room where Taro was still slumped on the chair sleeping. 

After he left, Raven wasted no time and teleported the both of them back to Gotham. 

“How did you know how he was?” She asked as she helped open up the windows. 

“Curiosity.” He simply said. 

“He was caring. Truly caring. It almost felt foreign.” She said, more like reciting out what she remembered about him. “Is that what it feels like to genuinely care about anyone and everything?”

Taro made a humming sound and picked up two heavy boxes like they were featherweight. “Probably.”

“It feels,” she mulled the next words in her head, “too big. People truly wish to be that big? Such a wish feels kind of… wrong.”

“Probably why they wish for it.”

“Because it’s wrong?”

“Maybe.” Taro shrugged. He didn’t care for much— his house, his van, his store, her and that female assassin, Talia— and he was okay. He felt filled. Superman didn’t. 

A mental tap brought back her attention. 

“Don’t think too much about it. It doesn’t matter.” He said softly, and looked at her. “What matters is that we are fully open in the next 10 minutes.”

Maybe it was alright this way. Maybe this was the natural way. Baby steps. Maybe she preferred how Taro felt because he was closer to her than Superman. 

The ground was closer to the crawling child than the standing man— that was something one of Taro’s books said. 

She should worry about caring about the things she could afford to care about, not about anything else. 

She would learn by first caring about the things immediate to her— in an arm’s distance. Like making sure the shop was fully opened in the next three minutes.