Small Hands
Guy sees himself in the kid down the hall that flinches at loud noises.
Sometimes it feels like he never left, that he was still stuck in that house, still the same little boy that cowered under his sheets with tears in his eyes with every shout and curse from his father. He spent years of his youth trying to look forward, fixated on a future of success and freedom, one that would have his piece of shit old man gritting his teeth in regret and envy, but he’s still stuck in the past.
That’s more than apparent when the argument—or one sided verbal attack from the apartment across the hall continued for what felt like hours. He’s never met his neighbours, but he definitely knew more about them than he should with the shouting matches that occurred every night. He knows that it’s because of a man. A man that takes out his own frustrations, his own inadequacies out on someone weaker than him, he sees his father on the other side of the door. He tries not to see himself.
He’s had enough of listening to some scum of the Earth bastard screaming at his girl. He doesn’t know if they’re married, but he wants to tell her to run, that it never gets better. That she has no reason to stay.
When he slams his door open, he’s not afraid. He’s Guy Gardner, (former) Green Lantern of Earth, chosen by the Guardians (to be Jordan’s understudy), and there is no one he’s afraid of. He knows what to expect from a pathetic, mad man.
But when he sees a small curled up figure flinch and stare up at him with fearful eyes, he falters, freezing at his doorway, the sound of yelling louder. The scene feels familiar. He should have known. His own mother, too afraid to strike out on her own, to be solely responsible for messing up her kids by taking them away from their father. He feels hopeless, anger fading. What good were his fists and own loud words? He knows seeing a man beat on his old man as a kid that craved his father’s approval would have hurt him.
The kid looks up at him cautiously, huddled by the apartment door.
Guy Gardner, who rushed into fights fist first, always with something to spit out was no help here.
His head hurts, which wasn’t too uncommon after nearly becoming a brain dead, comatose patient.
Guy, the boy that left the hell he called a home, to be better, could at least try.
“Don’t think it’s too safe for a rugrat like you to be loitering around,” he speaks up, willing, because it always comes down to will, his hands not to shake.
The kid remains quiet.
“I’ve,” he struggles for a moment, “I’ve got some cake in the fridge if you stop acting like a mouse caught in a trap.”
He turns around, leaving his door open. Why is this so hard for him? The words he really wants to say, trapped in his chest, it’s hard to believe he once spent his days in a classroom. It feels like a lifetime ago.
He hears some shuffling and the door closing, yells blissfully muffled again. He sends a quick thank you that Tora’s been dropping off various meals and treats, her worry in him leaving the Corps and League more than clear.
He cuts into buttercream and yellow sponge cake, firmly throwing any thoughts of Tora and her pity out of his head for a moment.
He sets the kid up in his messy living room, a slice of cake and glass of milk on his shitty coffee table, some colourful cartoon blaring on the TV.
He leans back on his couch, wondering how he got here, watching how small hands made a normal fork look gigantic. The kid, eyes still glued on the TV, reaches for the glass, only to accidentally knock it over with their elbow. The kid shoots up, panic clear from the tension in their little shoulders, meeting his gaze with apprehension.
He raises his hand placatingly, moving to grab some paper towels. “Hey, no harm, no foul, it’d be a new low for me to cry over some spilled milk.”
The kid watches him wipe down the table, moving the glass aside, “See, good as new! No need to sweat it.”
The kid relaxes and he wonders how someone could berate that chubby face over something so minuscule. Was he so clearly small and scared once?
The kid opens their mouth for a moment before staring at the door, the silence now apparent. They run to the door, stopping to look back for a moment before rushing out.
He resolves himself again. He’s no hero, but he can be a warrior, violent and monstrous, especially for a kid that can’t even cry for help.
But, to his surprise, the next day, he sees the mother pack the kid into her car with whatever else she could fit into it with an angry asshole breathing over her shoulder. He hadn’t even considered she would have just left. His own mother never could. Seeing the woman ignore the shouting coming from her former partner, Guy realizes he’s never respected a person more than in this very moment. Leaning against the wall, he looks out his window, watching the father make a fool out of himself.
The kid doesn’t need a hero, clearly.
Rather than the emptiness or agitation he’s felt since losing the ring, he’s relieved. Probably the best he’s felt since his fight with Hal. He’s glad the kid will get a chance to live in a house where they won’t cower at raised voices.
Any positive emotion he feels is quickly overshadowed by anger when he sees the man push the woman down onto the ground, voice reaching a near roar as the kid scrambles out of the car to reach their mother.
He moves, shooting out of his apartment, down the stairs, barely registering when his feet meets concrete, too focused on the man he’s about to kill. He’s barely able to turn around before Guy’s fist is slammed into his face, a loud crunch filling the air, the man crashing against the pavement, body limp.
For a moment, he only pants, blinking. Unconscious just like that?
“That…was surprisingly easy,” he comments, almost speechless for once in his life. And, of course it was easy, he realizes, abusive shit he is, this was just another man, another father.
The kid stares up at him, blessedly not with fear, but with wonder.
“One punch…one punch!” The kid laughs, childish mirth clear, face transforming into someone without fear.
Now, he’s speechless.
He begins to laugh too.
“Yeah, it is pretty funny, huh, pipsqueak?”
But hopefully this gets at least one person to read up on Guy (Guy Gardner 1992!!), I know a lot of people label him as nothing more than an ‘asshole character’, but there’s a story behind his demeanour. Also mandatory ‘one punch’
And for the readers that never had anyone intervene when you needed it most, I’m sorry.
I think leaving the kid obviously unnamed feels right, sometimes strangers are kinder than your own.
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