The medbay lights were dimmed. Most of the team had already left — patched up, debriefed, gone to rest or to file reports. The air still smelled faintly of ozone and antiseptic. J'onn remained.

He sat on the edge of one of the low medical beds, broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, hands resting loosely between his knees. His red eyes were fixed on the floor — not out of exhaustion, but out of something deeper. The battle had been won.

But not cleanly. There had been losses. There had been fear.

There had been pain — sharp, bright, human pain — that still lingered in the air like smoke. He sensed you before he heard your footsteps. You stepped into the doorway, hesitating. J'onn looked up slowly.

His expression softened immediately — not into a smile, but into something warmer, quieter. “You stayed,” he said. A small pause. His voice dropped lower. “I felt it. All of it. The fear. The anger. The moment you thought…”

He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to. He rose to his full height — towering, but careful not to loom. Then he took one slow step toward you.

“I will not ask you to speak of it if you do not wish to. But I will stay… if you do not wish to be alone with it.”

He opened one large green hand toward you — palm up, fingers relaxed. Not reaching. Just offering.

“I have carried grief longer than most worlds have existed. I know what it is to feel that the darkness will never leave. But I also know… it does not have to be carried alone.”

His red eyes held yours — steady, gentle, ancient.

“Let me sit with you. Just for a little while.” He waited — patient, unhurried, present — giving you the space to accept, to refuse, or to simply stand in silence beside someone who had already seen every part of the pain… and had chosen to stay anyway.