ᴀᴅᴀɪɴᴇ ᴀʙᴇʀɴᴀᴛʜ (portential) wrote in jurassiccitylog, @ 2016-05-06 03:20:00 |
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He had died. It was almost impossible to process the words. It just seemed so unfathomable. He was a hero. He saved the day. He wasn't supposed to die. And more than that, he was only twenty-seven years old. If he died, it wasn't supposed to be now. He was supposed to live a life. He was supposed to have more than this. Nothing about any of it was fair. But he knew all of that was bullshit. There was no "supposed to" in this. Eddie had died and Ronnie had died and they had been heroes. Sara had died, though she had come back from it, and Laurel had died too. Being a hero didn't exempt you from that sort of tragedy. As to dying young...it happened. It sucked but it happened. And, more than anything, life wasn't fair. Trying to argue for fairness in life was pointless. Still, he couldn't quite take it in. He knew Harry wasn't lying about it. Why would he? It was clear the scientist was consumed with guilt. That, at least, Barry had known how to deal with. He knew Len didn't understand it, why he was so focused on helping Harry through his feelings when the man had caused his death. But it was all he knew how to do. He felt like he was breaking under the weight of this and if he focused too hard on his own feelings he might crack apart under the stress. If he focused on other people, if he forgot about himself, it might buy him time to just breathe. But he'd said all he could really say, talking Harry down from his recriminations and talking Len down from killing Harry, and now he just felt empty and drained. He'd died. It was a fact. After everything he'd done, after all the suffering and the fighting and everything he had given up and lost, it had ended with him losing his powers and dying. And wasn't that just a ringing endorsement for the idea of being a hero. Save the day and you can be miserable right up until you die. If that had been the sales pitch, he might have done the smart thing and walked away. He was standing in the apartment, staring out the window and trying to get his emotions in check. And there were so many. He was angry and he was frustrated and he was bitterly disappointed. There was grief there too, and guilt - as absurd as that was - and hurt, and it was all too much. He couldn't sort it out. And somehow with all of it, he was left just feeling numb. His hands were clenched at his sides, faint tremors running through him. What was he supposed to do now? |