Doug hadn't talked much through all of his classes. He'd not slept much last night, was nursing a now healthy bruise on his jaw from Stephanie Brown's right hook. Worst, he'd manage to get even more dirty looks from people who already didn't trust the mutant in their midst. He'd forgotten two homework assignments worth a larger percentage of his grade than he realized, he tripped in the hallway after lunch, and he'd managed to misplace his phone for a panicked two hours.
He was in a foul mood. This was indeed the lowest he'd ever been. Doug thought walking might clear his mind, as he left school and went to the bank to take what money he had left out in cash for upcoming prom expenses. He swiped his card, hood up as it started to drizzle (because of course it would do that), and emptied his account of 500 dollars. It was going to have to be enough. He shoved the bills into his pocket.
"Give me your money."
Doug sighed, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. Not today. Batgirl had trained him. Not today. He slowly turned, wanting to smile but his jaw not letting him. Hands up, he replied, "Easy."
He'd seen this guy before. Skinny, a little older than high school, trying to purchase drugs near school, sometimes selling them. He didn't know the guy's name, but he could tell he was a user looking for his fix. He wasn't in withdrawal... which was good... it allowed Doug to read his body language. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you my money," Doug said evenly, his jaw hurting as he did so.
The user pulled a knife. "I said now!"
"You don't want to do this! Walk away." Doug's anger seeped into his voice. Not what he wanted, it upped the chances for violence. His eyes narrowed. Maybe he wanted violence this time. "Last chance, asshole. Get lost."
The man lunged at Doug. He was prepared for it. The move was in his body language long before it happened, already obsolete as Doug's mind dissected the sloppy attack. he moved to the side, simultaneously slapping his palm into the man's face, pushing up on the bridge of his nose to create pressure, and using his other hand to drive the knife into the ATM, forcing it to clatter to the ground.
The attacker dropped, and Doug felt a wave of red rage fill him, warm and powerful, like he'd held it in all his life, and certainly the last few days. When he stopped beating his attacker, the man was holding his stomach, and Doug's fist was raised, ready to strike at his face.
That man's body language showed utter defeat. "God..." the boy lowered his fist. It had only been seconds, but he'd been out of control. He checked the man's pulse, then his stomach. Nothing seemed broken, but the pain was coming off in waves. Doug couldn't look, it was too easily to feel that pain, too easy to remember his own when they'd come across him.
His hood was down. Looking around, Doug pulled up his hood and started rocking, crying. "Are you okay?"
"M'sorry, I just needed..."
"I can call an ambulance."
"No, no police, I can't get jailed again, man, I can't go back to there..."
"What do you want to do?"
"I'll leave..." he tried to get up. Doug stood up and helped him. The young man looked at him oddly. "You fight like the devil hisself."
"Been to some ugly places. That's all the hard stuff's ever going to bring you, is ugliness." Looking around, Doug offered. "There's a restaurant nearby. You can rest up a bit. I'll..."
"What? Why?"
Doug looked at him, and turned his own body language to a very clear sign of open help. "I'll buy you dinner. I didn't have to beat you that bad."
"You're crazy."
"Yeah..." Doug said, looking back at the scattered knife, then down at his own hands. "I've been getting that a lot lately." He looked back over at his... victim? "Are you coming?"
The man nodded, and followed him down the street. His body said he wouldn't be trying anything like that again.