"Not red kryptonite," he admitted with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "That was part of the horror of it. That I couldn't pull it out and put it away myself. I knew what it was when the red k pulled it out."
His other hand ran up and down Bruce's side, smooth and easy until he reached the spot just above the hip. There he turned his finger, let his nail catch the skin, left a shallow slice that dotted with blood a moment later. Blood that made his nostrils flair.
"No, it was earlier. The day after my father died. I tried to mourn and my tears were fire and for the first time, it was satisfying. I watched a field burn, knew it was me and me alone who'd caused that, and there was a part of me that felt good."
The other side now, a slightly different angle that actually made it easier. The same spot, the part of his body where he twisted. Bruce would feel it for days, in every step, every turn. He might even open the scabs if he was too quick.
"It wasn't the power. It wasn't the destruction. It was the pain. My pain. My pain given form, leaving a mark somewhere. Does that make sense to you, Bruce?"
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His other hand ran up and down Bruce's side, smooth and easy until he reached the spot just above the hip. There he turned his finger, let his nail catch the skin, left a shallow slice that dotted with blood a moment later. Blood that made his nostrils flair.
"No, it was earlier. The day after my father died. I tried to mourn and my tears were fire and for the first time, it was satisfying. I watched a field burn, knew it was me and me alone who'd caused that, and there was a part of me that felt good."
The other side now, a slightly different angle that actually made it easier. The same spot, the part of his body where he twisted. Bruce would feel it for days, in every step, every turn. He might even open the scabs if he was too quick.
"It wasn't the power. It wasn't the destruction. It was the pain. My pain. My pain given form, leaving a mark somewhere. Does that make sense to you, Bruce?"