he thinks his i’m sorry’s like a mantra, the words heavy in his chest except … he can’t escape the feeling that it would have been the other way around, that if he hadn’t left then bruce would have done, would have joined the already too - long list of abandonments and he wouldn’t have swallowed that so easy. he knows now that staying here would have been a death sentence, that until they left then he couldn’t survive in a place they inhabited; they always wanted him dead, one way or another. he was discarded parts, a mess of wounds that never can heal, but he’s here now, pretending he knows the way the sun should shine, pretending that when he sips from his beer it doesn’t taste like bile and his own regret. he never wanted to hurt a friend, and standing here, he doesn’t even know that he did, doesn’t know if it felt like anything at all when he ripped himself away from whatever they were. ( does he want to know or not? )
“i’m not a paramedic, bruce." he’s something, something more than he was, something he has made from the ashes that have always surrounded him, a way he has put together his broken pieces and made himself into a rag - doll. and every day, he risks his life like he can finally make them see him, can make them love him, can make up for not saving the son they wanted, the one he could never be. he swallows back another sip, uses it to cover up hands that still betray him by shaking when the world becomes too heavy, the sky forcing strain into atlas’s palms. ” i could break it worse, and i don’t even have any decent pain - killers around here. you could get hurt worse.“ and lips set stubbornly as he looks across, a weight that lingers in his chest; they made him to be a saviour. he can’t fail that again.
* ) 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 𝙲𝚄𝚃 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙼𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚊𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚃 ; the want for just SOMEONE to stay. he was WRONG , bruce’s TRAUMA at root though ? inflicting pain upon others was the very idea of SELFISH , and CRUEL. ‘ i can’t go to the hospital ’ TEETH GRIND ever so slightly as sentence comes to an end , ‘ things have changed buck , i’m not who i once was ’ an APOLOGY hangs in the back of throat as it wants so badly to greet air and break the tension. 𝚈𝙴𝚃 , 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 , 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝙻𝙾𝙳𝙶𝙴𝚂 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝. 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝙻𝚄𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎. ‘ i’m . . . well , there are those who want me dead , i haven’t been - i haven’t DONE my best for the people of this city , instead VENGEANCE won out. ’
EYES evade as he looks at the pizza boxes ‘ BLUE MOON PIZZA ’ lettering upon the front of cardboard boxes. ‘ trust me . . . it wouldn’t hurt as bad as you think ’ 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 , 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎. 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛. 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚂𝙴𝚂’ 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎-𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 , the SUIT is getting better yet ? there are still IMPERFECTIONS. ‘ i know you don’t want to do this . . . i NEED you to do this ’ bruce then finally fall upon bucks , frame looming in the light as shadows gently accent features. ‘ i have something for the pain trust me , i just can’t go home like this ’ he then PAUSES as he clears throat , ‘ you’ve been okay buck ? ’ the words HEAVY as they settle , STAGNANT in the air that lays between them. an apology NEVER said yet , tied in with the question.
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