It’s the reality check he never asked for but the one that was always coming. That puts a time limit on everything. The overwhelm hits him like a panic attack. He screws his eye shut hard enough for his brow muscles to ache, fighting to breathe around an awful, sinking feeling in his gut. Another loved one cold in the ground. Another headstone he’d stop and lay flowers by, week after week, growing old alone. He doesn’t even know which ones would’ve been Ed’s favourites. Tears gather at the corner of his eye.
He could have followed Ed into that darkness. He had come so close to the edge of nothingness, had stared fearlessly into it, ready and not ready. But instead, he's here, In someone else's clothes and someone else's bed, under a roof that isn't his. No phone or knife or gun. Nothing but this rage in his bones. It feels like some kind of karmic punishment.
He wipes his face, his gaze shuttering. It takes him a moment longer before he can trust his voice not to crack.]
...You mean that you believe one or more these supposed informants are responsible for Bruce’s death... [he reaches a compromise with his wounded body and rolls onto his back] and you need me to track them down.
no subject
It’s the reality check he never asked for but the one that was always coming. That puts a time limit on everything. The overwhelm hits him like a panic attack. He screws his eye shut hard enough for his brow muscles to ache, fighting to breathe around an awful, sinking feeling in his gut. Another loved one cold in the ground. Another headstone he’d stop and lay flowers by, week after week, growing old alone. He doesn’t even know which ones would’ve been Ed’s favourites. Tears gather at the corner of his eye.
He could have followed Ed into that darkness. He had come so close to the edge of nothingness, had stared fearlessly into it, ready and not ready. But instead, he's here, In someone else's clothes and someone else's bed, under a roof that isn't his. No phone or knife or gun. Nothing but this rage in his bones. It feels like some kind of karmic punishment.
He wipes his face, his gaze shuttering. It takes him a moment longer before he can trust his voice not to crack.]
...You mean that you believe one or more these supposed informants are responsible for Bruce’s death... [he reaches a compromise with his wounded body and rolls onto his back] and you need me to track them down.
[He chuffs wryly.]