His fists clenched. Nails dug into skin and he winced, outwardly winced, as if the words had been a slap, not just vocal, something more. There were some things that Bart kept to himself, some things that he told nobody. Clark and Oliver could tell you that he’d stolen to get by, that he’d paid for hotel rooms and clothes and anything else he wanted with money that wasn’t his. He took a wallet that belonged to Clark’s father and Clark confronted him and saw that the kid was lonely. It was easy to see that kind of thing when you had a fourteen year old boy willingly following you around, eating in your kitchen, giving your dad his stuff back without being forced into doing it. He had been lonely and he didn’t mind that Clark knew that.
It wasn’t a secret.
This was. This memory was his and nobody was supposed to know about it, least of all someone he didn’t trust. If ever he was going to tell anyone about his friend and what had happened to her, why he didn’t sleep outside, it would be Clark. After Sarah, Clark had been his first real friend, not counting the ones he had before he left home. Damien wasn’t Clark. He’d said nothing and still he knew.
Silent, he didn’t say a word. If Clark had been there he would have stopped him. But it was just the two of them and he remembered what it felt like in that alley. He remembered what Damien could do, what he did to him. When Impulse was upset, when he was genuinely upset, he was dangerous. Only eighteen, he had yet to gain full control over his abilities. He could make a mess, a big mess that would hurt anyone who got stuck in the middle.
He did it quickly, so that Damien wouldn’t be able to interfere. There would be no time to see his arm moving, but the fist that crashed into the side of his jaw was slowed before it could do enough damage to crack bone. Impulse could hit and he could hit hard, could take off a head if he wanted to. This punch wasn’t delivered to rob Damien of consciousness. That would be stupid. No reason to do that. Not yet.
“I didn’t give you permission to pick through my memories.”