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“It's not my blood, it's not mine, not my blood, it's not,” he repeated like a mantra, only interrupted by his wailing sobs that echoed through the night.
It was loud, so so loud, he could barely think straight, but it was quiet, realistically it should be quiet at this hour, it was him, he knew he was making all the noise, but how could he stop when he just– no, no, no, no–
“Not my blood,” Tommy choked out, his body shaking violently as he tried to breathe, to push away the weight on his lungs, only for it to make him spiral further.
Because how did he deserve to breathe when he just made sure an innocent man would never utter a breath again. Well innocent wasn’t exactly right, but then again who was he to decide, if anyone, he was the least innocent of them all.
He, who was supposed to protect, had sworn to help, only to end a man's life too early– he didn’t mean to, Prime, he didn’t–
Tommy’s voice kept cracking, an inhumane squeal that probably made any people closeby shudder, his voice so thick he feared it would force his mouth to open so wide that his jaw would break, his bones falling onto the tear-stained concrete with an unpleasant clatter.
At least it would put an end to this, would make him crumple into ashes so everyone could be free– so that he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore, the people could be safe, finally safe from his empty promises and bloodstained hands.
Tommy almost missed it, so caught up in his thoughts, only noticing the soft thumping behind him when it had almost reached him.
“Kid…”
“No!” He screamed, throwing his body backwards, his head knocking into the concrete.
But it didn’t matter– didn’t– he had to get away– he couldn’t–
The hero kneeled down, but refrained from coming any closer, his pink braid hanging only centimetres above the ground.
“Breathe,” he huffed.
Tommy choked on his breath, he wanted him to leave– he couldn’t stay here– he–
“Go,” he croaked as his gloved fingers dug into his skin.
The hero sighed before letting himself softly drop, adjusting his now crossed legs, “I will, once you start breathing.”
“Fuck off– you can't– you– leave,” Tommy wailed, curling in on himself.
“Kid, you won't be able to breathe like this.”
He didn’t care– he didn’t– he needed to–
Warmth. So suddenly it made him jump, just in time to see the hero retract his hand. Tommy stared at his upper arm, where the hero's hand had rested mere seconds ago, and choked, “You can't– are you crazy?! I don't want to kill you– please– I'm sorry– I didn't–”
“Theseus, hm?” The hero hummed, “That's your name, right?”
Tommy couldn’t trust his ears. How could he talk about this now, didn't he know what he had done– Fuck, shouldn't he be arresting him for primessake?
“I always really liked that story. Have you read it?”
He wanted to leave, he wanted to sink into the ground and just get it over with, he couldn’t do this anymore and this fucking prick of a hero couldn’t read the room. He was having a panic attack, he didn’t want to hear about primeforsaken Greek mythology.
“Well it's about this guy, his name's Theseus, in case you hadn't figured, anyway his most known story is the one in which he fought the minotaur. I'm sure you've heard of him, can't really forget about a guy that's a mix of man and bull, can you now? So Theseus saw how his people kept getting sacrificed–”
And so this strange hero started telling him the story of his own name, as if he didn’t know that (he didn’t, not in this detail at least, but the hero couldn’t know that. He just went ahead and mansplained the stupid story like he wrote it himself. Tommy ignored the way it calmed him.)
“That's stupid,” Tommy forced out at some point, clinging onto the distraction as if his life depended on it, spiralling had become so exhausting and Prime was he tired.
The hero seemed surprised at Tommy's sudden input but didn't hesitate to continue, “What is?”
“He just killed himself ‘cus of some– some stupid sail and didn’t even,” Tommy swallowed, “didn’t wait to see if his son made it? Like he couldn’t have been sure that Theseus wasn't on that ship. ”
The hero hummed, “Well maybe that's exactly the point. He couldn’t bear to find out his son had died, so, rather than checking, he chose to die, with the slim chance he was still there.”
Tommy huffed, “Well now he got a dead dad, that didn't fix nothing.”
“I wouldn't say nothing–”
“As if defeating the stupid minotaur brought him that much.”
“Well I was more talking about this Theseus. It helped him calm down, that's worth something, don't you think?”
Tommy released a sharp breath he didn’t realise he'd been holding, “A killer doesn't deserve to be calm,” he exclaimed curtly.
The hero took a moment to reply, “I've killed people before.”
Tommy scoffed, “Yeah, but you're a hero.”
“And you're a vigilante.”
He said it like it was a good thing, like this wasn’t illegal, like he was good when he so clearly wasn't.
When he didn’t reply, the hero spoke up once more, “Listen, I know this is hard, I know you didn't mean to kill him, but you have to understand; you're not a bad guy.”
But he was. Tommy swallowed back newly formed tears.
“Before this, you've done so much good. You've helped the people in these districts at least as much as I have, if not more. I've seen what you've done, Theseus, and you are good.”
“You don't even know me,” Tommy whimpered.
The hero hesitated before continuing, “Then let me.”
“What?”
The man stood up gracefully, his cape swaying in the gentle night breeze as he held out his hand, “I can help you.”
And maybe for the first time that night– screw that, for the first time in his entire life, Tommy knew exactly what he wanted. His hand shook when he took the older's, swaying slightly when he was pulled up. He hesitated for a brief moment before throwing himself at the hero, sobbing into his chest.
“I've got you, kid.”