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Kyle looked older with his cheeks so sunken in. At twenty-three, his face still had some of its baby fat. Hal honestly thought it was sweet. He felt like he and the other human Lanterns were old men. Maybe John wasn’t actually all that old in years, but grief and years of service had toughened and aged him to the point where he matched Hal and Guy.
But Kyle was just a kid. A sweet kid. He was something softer and better than the rest of them. Wasn’t the White Lantern evidence of that?
Anyone with enough courage and enough grit could learn to fly like Hal had done. Anyone with enough brains and patience could become an architect. Maybe not anyone could be Guy Gardner— God or some chaotic force definitely broke the mold when they created that hardhead.
But Kyle… To be an artist was true magic. Hal had to use his imagination all day every day, making constructs, but even he could not imagine what it was like to think so vast and free as Kyle Rayner. Maybe if Hal were built different, if he hadn’t had the bug he caught from his Dad, he could’ve knuckled down and learned the disciplines of painting and sketching like Kyle had. But he never would have had the mind and the heart it took to be anything like the kid.
Too many Lanterns were warriors. Unimaginative. Emotionally restricted.
Hal wondered what would have happened after the destruction of Coast City, if he’d been even a bit more like Kyle. He might have rent his clothes apart, cried until not a drop of moisture remained in his body, screamed until his throat tore open and bled. Painted a scene of universal apocalypse out of that blood. He wouldn’t have gotten sick with the infection. He wouldn’t have done what he had done.
A shaky, pained sound from Kyle brought Hal back to the present.
“Hey there, kiddo. Easy, take it easy.”
Good thing he was waking up. Hal was pretty troubled by the fact that the kid had remained masked, in uniform, even after his collapse. He needed to rest, to relax completely. He didn’t want to take the kid’s ring off of him, knew how scary it would feel for Kyle to wake up without it. But the costume was evidence that even unconscious, there was a spark of Kyle Rayner white-knuckling the mission.
Kyle moaned in pain. His voice crackled, bone dry.
“You’re okay, buddy. Don’t try to sit up.”
“Orion…” Kyle rasped. That one word proved too much for his exhausted body. He coughed and coughed and coughed. As his chest and throat spasmed, he rolled over onto his side and curled himself up.
Hal lay his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. He knew how bad the kid had to be aching.
“Orion is okay, kid. He’s good.”
“The Golem?” the kid asked.
There was a juice box on the table by Kyle’s hospital bed. Hal put the straw through it and held it out to him, just offering Kyle the straw.
“Oh my God, I’m so thirsty,” he said, after a couple sips.
“No kidding,” Hal replied. “You stood there holding Orion together for twenty-seven hours. You haven’t had anything to eat or drink in almost forty hours. This IV that’s rehydrating you is the only reason you’re able to talk to me right now.”
“I’m tired,” Kyle said simply.
Poor kid was so out of it. Hal brushed back his sleek black hair. It was getting pretty long. Had to feel bad on the back of his neck right now. Hal made a tiny construct of a hair elastic and pulled half of Kyle’s hair back into a ponytail, hoping it might make him feel a little better. He went ahead and offered the kid another sip of juice.
It was hard not to feel worried, looking at how pale Kyle’s face was. Usually, he looked just a little bit lighter than Hal, but right now he was ashy white.
“How come you’re still suited up?” Hal asked, while Kyle slowly worked on his juice box. “You’ve been passed out for twelve hours now, but all this time, you haven’t been really resting.”
The boy coughed after finishing his sip.
“Thought you guys might need me.”
“We always need you, Kyle. Right now, we need you to heal up all the way. C’mon, buddy, drop the armor. It’s all okay now.”
“Hal, I…” the kid struggled to speak. His throat sounded terrible. His voice cracked as he tried to complete the thought. For the first time since the whole business with Sarko, he was letting his emotions show. His cracked lower lip quivered as he reached his hand up to his heart. The spot where the brand was still heavily dressed and bandaged.
“I broke everything.”
Hal wrapped up the kid’s hand in both of his.
“Kiddo, no… You saved a New God. Orion is in better shape than you are right now. He went home with his dad.”
Highfather would care for Orion as he recovered from his wounds. Orion’s dad and Kyle Rayner went to the ends of space and their own physicalities to save him. He had to know he was the luckiest guy in the universe.
“...Sora…”
Hal could tell Kyle would have cried, needed to cry, but he was still too badly dehydrated. Mask off now, his eyes squeezed shut, his nose wrinkled as his chest gave into a couple weak sobs.
“Come on, now, buddy. You think you’re the first guy who got stuck with a tattoo of his ex-girlfriend’s name? I think Guy has got three of those. And I know he’s raring to split a six-pack with you and have a heart-to-heart about it, once you're better. We’re all with you, kiddo. We’re all on the same team. No one is mad at you.”
“I shouldn’t have…” Kyle coughed hard. “Shouldn’t have, maybe… I wanted to, want to trust her. I love her…”
God, the poor guy. The IV electrolytes were good for saving his life, but those fluids alone couldn’t heal the kid’s parched mouth and throat. Hal brought the juice box to Kyle’s lips once more, encouraging him to slowly drink.
Hal talked while Kyle drank. “I get it, Kyle. More than anyone, I think I can get it. You’ve got your girl Soranik, and I’ve got her dad. It hurts like hell, and I know there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that it ends in destruction, over and over again. But Sinestro is my friend. And I will always love him.”
Kyle sighed in exhaustion once he finished the juice box. Then, out of nowhere, he started breathing very fast and shaky, as the already-pale color disappeared from his lips. He shot upright and covered his mouth with his palm, tugging roughly on his IV as he did it.
Crap. Hal was all of a sudden very glad he tied Kyle’s hair back earlier. He quickly made a construct of a bowl and rubbed Kyle’s back as his body rejected the four measly ounces of apple juice he’d just swallowed.
“You’re okay, pal. It’s all okay.” Hal willed the construct over to the sink on the opposite wall and disposed of the contents.
“I’m sorry,” Kyle sobbed, reaching out for Hal to hold him.
“Oh, buddy…” Hal wrapped his arms around the kid. Tucked his head underneath his chin. He thought of how the brand on Kyle’s chest had to hurt, pressed up against Hal. But the boy just held onto Hal tighter, tighter. “Shhh… It’s alright, Kyle. You’re amazing. You are really, really astounding, kiddo. You have a good heart. Your good heart is a good thing. It’s something we need. We need your hope and your compassion. You are good, kid. You are so good. Shhh…”
Hal hugged Kyle, rubbed his back until his weak sobs quieted. Once he was done crying, he simply fell limp against Hal’s shoulder. Hal slowly lowered the kid back onto the bed. Pulled up the sheets and blankets to cover him. Wiped his scant tears with his thumbs. The way Dad had done for him, just once, when he was a kid. The way no dad had ever done for Kyle.
“Orion’s okay,” Kyle repeated, as if to assure himself.
“Orion is doing great with an all-natural ticker again, thanks to you.”
There… for the first time since waking up, a bit of a smile showed on Kyle’s face.
That was the flip side of his sensitive artist’s heart. Yeah, the kid could scream and cry and punch and let out all the poison that would otherwise make him sick— the way fear had made Hal so sick, all those years ago— but he could also flow over with joy. Right now, he was too weak for that joyful overflow, but that little spark of it could maybe help him heal. Because he did do something wonderful. Something miraculous.
There was also something miraculous in his hope for Soranik. The hope he held for her, even with her brand seared over his wounded, broken heart.
“So tired, Hal…”
“Sleep, kiddo. You’ll feel better next time you wake up.”
“You don’t have t’ stay. You got stuff t’ do…”
“Nah, John owes me big time. I’m off the clock for a while. I wasn’t gonna bring it up with ya, but while you were holding Orion together, I gave Yuga Khan one hell of a dogfight. So we both kinda saved the day… Only, I got to sit down some, and piss when I needed to. I worked a lunch break in there, too. You got the rougher end of the deal.”
“Mmm… I want a L.A. street dog so bad.”
“I’ll get ya one as soon as you’re off the clear liquid diet. Not the mess hall dupe of it, either. We’ll get the real thing. You’ve definitely earned it, kid.”
Kyle’s heavy eyes finally closed. He was clearly still in a world of discomfort. Hal was intimately familiar with the muscle cramps, the stabbing headache, the cotton mouth, the belly pain, the whole wretched deal of such bad dehydration and exhaustion. He didn’t know how it felt while also processing the confusion and grief of what the poor kid had been through with Sarko. Of all the heartbreak the human Lanterns had ever experienced, Kyle just discovered a whole new kind. A kind that none of the three could really help him with. All Hal could do was sit with him. Let him know how good, how special, how beautiful he truly was.
As Kyle fell asleep, Hal found his mind wandering, a rare treat. He noticed his imagination traipsing about and decided to let it roam free, see what might happen. Nothing urgent needed to be done. Nothing but be here for Kyle.
In his own exhausted reverie, he found himself making light, flowing curlicues of green across the walls and ceiling. Trailing green energy from his ring like a paintbrush. He was no Kyle Rayner. Obviously, he was no Kyle Rayner. This was more like a kid’s first attempt at finger painting than anything that could be considered real art. But it seemed desperately important to try to get to understand the boy, know his heart and his mind even better than he had before.
After about an hour, John and Guy stepped into the hospital room, and into a world of glowing waves and spirals, stars and orbs. Something like a toddler’s approximation of Starry Night.
“Putting up some new decorations for the infirmary?” John said quietly.
Man, they looked beat. Hal had a feeling that John hadn’t been getting much sleep since he took over as Corps leader. Guy, too, looked worse for the wear, surprisingly with dark circles instead of bruises under his eyes.
“Just, uh… experimenting with a different hobby. Kyle always seems to have fun drawing. Thought I’d give it a go for once.”
“How long have I been saying you needed an artistic outlet?” John said, his voice rising. “How many years have I known you?”
“Better late than never, right?” Hal said, smirking. He made an actual construct of a paintbrush, and drew a broad stroke across both John’s and Guy’s faces.
Surprisingly— John laughed.
Hal couldn’t begin to remember the last time that had happened.
He braced himself for retaliation from Guy, but all he got was a paintbrush splatter of green energy over his face in return. Guy took Hal’s old place sitting in the chair next to Kyle’s bed. He rubbed the kid’s shoulder, which was now thankfully covered in a hospital gown instead of his full costume.
“Hallie’s being a coward, Rayner,” Guy said in a low voice. “Makin’ construct paintings instead of the real thing. He’s too afraid of a bad grade from the art teacher. You gotta make him show his work next time.”
“Guy and me can relieve you, Hal,” John said. “You’ve been sitting here for a while. I know your back has got to be killing you.”
“Oh, come on, I’m not that old,” Hal replied, stretching. He reached behind and massaged his lower back, now that John brought it up. It actually hurt a lot. He was a decade older than Dad had been on his last flight, come to think of it. Old enough to be Kyle’s dad, maybe, if you squint, if he’d been unlucky enough to father a kid in his teens.
“I just heard every joint in your body pop, Jordo. Think you’re more of the Highfather’s peer than ours, grandpa.”
“Yeah, I think Mogo’s the closest Lantern to your age,” John added.
Hal couldn’t help but laugh just a bit. Kyle would be eating this up.
“Well, Mogo is the closest to my level of stationary, for the moment,” he replied. “I’m good, guys, really. Go celebrate with a couple rounds. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I think Michelangelo wants to get back to painting the Sistine Chapel,” John said to Guy, before he cast another glance up at the decorated ceiling.
Hal had put some planets and nebulas up there. Kyle could have thought of something cooler— like he would have put deep sea whales and anglerfish up on the ceiling to make a topsy-turvy world.
Huh… Good idea.
Hal reconstructed a long paintbrush and got to work.
“Well, have fun in art class, buddy,” Guy said, punching Hal on the arm and making him draw out the anglerfish lure to an absurd length.
Actually, it looked kind of cool like that.
Once Hal finished the picture, he could will it to stay up there, nice and steady, until Kyle woke up again to see a twilight zone aquarium of glowing jellyfish and giant squid above him. Even if it looked like a child drew it, hopefully it would make him smile. God knows the kid deserved to smile.
He threw a wave to his friends as they headed back out. He didn’t look their way, too focused on the artwork he was making. So this was how Kyle got lost in his sketchbook for hours at a time.
All at once Hal wished that as easily as he made this admittedly ugly mural, he could paint over the insignia burned into Kyle’s chest. Turn it into something beautiful, take the pain away.
But the burn was something beautiful about Kyle, wasn’t it? It was his trust and faith. It was all the things that had made him the White Lantern. It was the belief in Soranik’s goodness and in his love. No doubt that in time, Kyle could see the brand as a good part of him as well.
Hal cleared away the paintbrush construct, the messy scribbles on the walls, and his own costume, too— the only constructs he left remaining were the decorated ceiling and Kyle’s hair tie. He hoped the ponytail really was making him more comfortable, not just increasing his tension. At least the kid had to be more relaxed now that he wasn’t using his last shred of will to remain in uniform, trying to be ready for more action.
“You just rest. Rest easy, kiddo.”
It would be days before he felt back to his usual self. He had willed his body to hold up through so much. Not just the hunger and the thirst— the blood pooling in his feet, the strain on his spine and hips, the stress it had put on his bladder, the cognitive load of it all… The softest Green Lantern had also turned out to be the toughest.
“Kyle Rayner, you really are the best of us.”