[ It stings. It hurts in a way that makes his skin heat and catch. It hurts in a way that has him whirling and hitting the wall, hard, again, and again, and again. Because he has nothing else to do and no other way to vent it.
He's tired of this argument.
He's been having it since he was twelve years old. Since he was old enough to be told there was a different way, a better way, which conflicted with everything he was brought up. Since he grew accustomed to watching the monsters they put behind bars get out and terrorize, and maim, and kill. Since the first time he glimpsed the replica of one of his brother's uniforms behind glass, free of the blood and viscera that had stained the original. Since he watched a madman laugh in the aftermath of eight million dead.
It's about then that he notices Stephen Strange's message. The note of caution. A reminder that there is, in fact, a game to be played and he's doing the al Ghuls a disservice by refusing to take part.
And instead of Jason's ruined uniform or the irradiated pit that Metropolis had become, the city they'd worked so damn hard to rebuild from the ground up, he thinks of Clark's hand on his shoulders and the steadying presence of his calm. Of the want to make him proud. To be better than Bruce.
You're just going to GIVE UP, are you?! You can't let HIM win! This is a setback. Nothing more. This feels like a defeat. Not even close. This is far from over. You can bet on that.
He takes a breath. Pulls bloody knuckles off concrete, and shuts his eyes. ]
tw SOME SELF INJURY
He's tired of this argument.
He's been having it since he was twelve years old. Since he was old enough to be told there was a different way, a better way, which conflicted with everything he was brought up. Since he grew accustomed to watching the monsters they put behind bars get out and terrorize, and maim, and kill. Since the first time he glimpsed the replica of one of his brother's uniforms behind glass, free of the blood and viscera that had stained the original. Since he watched a madman laugh in the aftermath of eight million dead.
It's about then that he notices Stephen Strange's message. The note of caution. A reminder that there is, in fact, a game to be played and he's doing the al Ghuls a disservice by refusing to take part.
And instead of Jason's ruined uniform or the irradiated pit that Metropolis had become, the city they'd worked so damn hard to rebuild from the ground up, he thinks of Clark's hand on his shoulders and the steadying presence of his calm. Of the want to make him proud. To be better than Bruce.
You're just going to GIVE UP, are you?! You can't let HIM win!
This is a setback. Nothing more.
This feels like a defeat.
Not even close. This is far from over. You can bet on that.
He takes a breath. Pulls bloody knuckles off concrete, and shuts his eyes. ]
You're right.