Doors Sins: Halloween Event (doorssins) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-10-18 22:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | plot: halloween |
What: Reveal(s)
When: Sins plot.
Warnings/Rating: None.
The hooded man had not been dead, nor had he been alive. He had simply been nothing, nowhere, an empty sack of meat sprawled out on a blood-slicked floor with the dead lion atop him.
As the sun rose, he began to return to the land of the living, to who he truly was, but it was slow. Wounds healed, leaving bruises behind, his heart beat once more, and breath filled his lungs as he opened his eyes, sitting up to find that he was no longer in the warehouse. There was no blood in sight, no lion, and after a moment of hazy confusion Bruce realized that he was back in Wayne Manor, on the floor of the bedroom he rarely used.
Memories began to return as he stood, supporting himself on the bed, and made his way to the bathroom. At first Bruce thought it had all been one long nightmare, until he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and the burn of constant ache pierced his senses. Everything hurt, and he grunted as he pulled off his shirt to see what lay beneath.
It wasn't pretty.
Bruises marred his chest, shoulders, and back, as well as his throat, which was splotched in various shades of blue, black and purple. There was a throbbing between his legs as well, and he remembered then, remembered the doll's knife... but no, that hadn't been permanent either. Not a nightmare, then, but that couldn't be true. He couldn't have done those things, couldn't have killed not once, but twice, without hesitation. Not him. No, no. No. He refused to take lives that others thought were deserving of death; how could he have killed that girl? And the lioness? Why hadn't he stopped himself?
This, on top of the recent effects of Crane's serum, were simply too much. Bruce couldn't stay here, where anyone might see him, and there would be questions he didn't want to face. No. Like it or not, Luke would be crossing, and if some of the bruises had come from him as well, then so be it. Let him deal with his sins, because he couldn't deal with his own, not just then, not so soon.
Forcing Luke through was easy. He didn't remember the night's events either, not at first, and he stumbled out of the door and against the far wall, confused, struggling to understand why almost every part of him ached, why he could still smell smoke and blood and burning flesh, why he felt impossibly hot.
Then, then it came back to him, quicker than it had with Bruce. The woman he'd nearly burned but let go, what he'd done, and the second one, the one he'd burned to a crisp and enjoyed...
"Shit." Luke leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling his stomach lurch and heave uncomfortably. This was bad. Not just because he'd been some sort of burning psychopath, but because of the first woman, and the fact that he knew he had to tell Wren, and he knew she'd take it badly. It wouldn't matter that it had been more about blind want, about pain and taking what essentially amounted to her life, or that he hadn't been himself, not really. No, not with her. Fuck. "I hate this fucking place," he muttered, but there was nothing from Bruce, no agreement or disagreement. Maybe he wasn't the only one who'd had a bad night.
Fuck the phone, and its declaration that he had been Envy. He didn't care. He hated the hotel, hated Vegas, but most of all, he hated himself. It wasn't a new feeling. He was a fucking pathetic excuse for a man, and if he had nothing, it was because he deserved as much. But no, he'd gone and taken out his anger on innocent people, and look where that had gotten him.
He made his way out of the hotel slowly, and began the long trek home. Fuck everything.