It's hard, when she doesn't want to put it on other people, afraid of being too much. Uncontrolled, uncontained. Everything she shouldn't be. And yet.
She's been told it before, and she's trying to believe it, and it's hard, when she wants to be the soft landing for people who have to go out and fight. It's hard when she's used to having to move on, to not feel the pain from her wounds because adrenaline made her focus on the now now now. When the people she might have collapsed around have either told her that they're falling apart themselves or she's so afraid that it'll be more than they can stand, when she loves them so much she's afraid to leave blood on them where she touches.
And yet, and yet, they want her to collapse. They say it's okay, that she won't fall, they won't fall. How can they say that? Don't they know what will happen?
When did it become not okay?
She weeps, because she's scared, and hurting, and being brave had been so tiring to keep up. The last time she cried like this, she had been alone, huddled in the basement - but someone is here, and they are above ground, and there is no storm outside, and they are listening. She weeps because of that as well.
Eventually, she'll quiet, the vague sense that Wayne's shirt probably has seen better days floating in the now empty space in her head. It hurts like someone took steel wool to the interior, but it's no longer at a pressure to split open. But she still stays where she is, not wanting to jostle the wisps of peace that want to settle around her.
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She's been told it before, and she's trying to believe it, and it's hard, when she wants to be the soft landing for people who have to go out and fight. It's hard when she's used to having to move on, to not feel the pain from her wounds because adrenaline made her focus on the now now now. When the people she might have collapsed around have either told her that they're falling apart themselves or she's so afraid that it'll be more than they can stand, when she loves them so much she's afraid to leave blood on them where she touches.
And yet, and yet, they want her to collapse. They say it's okay, that she won't fall, they won't fall. How can they say that? Don't they know what will happen?
When did it become not okay?She weeps, because she's scared, and hurting, and being brave had been so tiring to keep up. The last time she cried like this, she had been alone, huddled in the basement - but someone is here, and they are above ground, and there is no storm outside, and they are listening. She weeps because of that as well.
Eventually, she'll quiet, the vague sense that Wayne's shirt probably has seen better days floating in the now empty space in her head. It hurts like someone took steel wool to the interior, but it's no longer at a pressure to split open. But she still stays where she is, not wanting to jostle the wisps of peace that want to settle around her.