Work Text:
Your mind was never particularly kind to you.
Growing up your mother was quite absent. It wasn't that she didn't love you, she just worked, a lot. Your father was prone to sickness so not only was finding work difficult, he needed medicine that took a chunk of the house money. And that added to her stress. The thought of getting a job was tempting but it was hard enough to go to high school. It felt strange to have your mother's love and resentment.
You should get a job
Your father was a lot more blatant with his love, for both you and your mother. He shared grand stories he claimed were true, that he saw it with his own eyes. The Kraken did try to sink his ship. He met the muses on a trip to Greece and they sang to him. He stumbled into an Elven forest and they rode on moose. He never backed down from saying they were true but the crinkle in his eyes told you he knew he was convincing you.
You should be there for him more
You were fifteen when you used your power for the first time. Standing up to a bully, you see. They threw glass at you and so you tried to push that hurt into her. And it worked. You thought that would make you a hero but no one felt the same. For the next four years nobody touched you and avoided you even when you tried to reach out. The teachers were no help either. So you ate alone in the back of the school and cried.
You asked for this
The love from your mother quickly faded. She was a superstitious woman. To her the devil was in her house. It was by the grace and begging of your father that kept you there.
You reap what you sow
With only a mediocre degree finding work was almost impossible and you weren't about to be a leech. So crime was what you had. But then your mother lost her job and you needed more money quick. You found underground fighting and used your hurt to win. The money you gave your mother was taken with a berating lecture, usually followed by unkind hands.
It's fine. This is your job as a daughter. Don't lay a hand on them.
You didn't tell her where you got the money so eventually she did kick you out of the house. But you just got the world's shittiest apartment and gave every spare change to them. And then you were thrown out of the ring for cheating. They didn't know how but fixing fights was not profitable. Bills didn't pay themselves.
Find better footing you imbecile. If your father dies it's your fault.
Crime was, at this point, all you knew. So that's exactly what you did. It was undignified preying on people like a hyena, but you had no resume, not one anyone would take. And then the accident happened. The crash that totaled your car and almost claimed your life, it did claim a life. The pay out from that got you a new job. You had to hunt people.
You have to do this, trash. This is your punishment for dirtying your hands in the first place. Blood was never supposed to be on your hands.
The job hurt. It relied on you chasing after impossible people and staying in pain to do it. You had to walk them to the cops and hear them plead, living with the guilt of not caring.
Your feelings don't matter, you dog. Keep your anger. Keep your hands. You deserve them.
Almost ten years passed and collecting bountys was still your job. Your anger never truly subsided, only grew into something different. Resentment. All empathy was gone. But one thing was all the same in the last fifteen years, your hands hurt.
You'll never change. Just pay your bills.
Then he showed up at the coffee shop on Fifth. You wanted your coffee and he wanted your company. There was nothing in the world that you could think of to explain why he was there. You didn't humor him but he didn't run. He must have wanted something, 'what' was the question.
He's not here to gain nothing.
That same man consistently touched you. Out on the street he pushed you away from danger. He pulled you out of a fire. He had no real fear of touching you. Even during coffee he would brush against your hands and it burned you. It didn't seem to matter when you passed pain to him.
He has something to prove.
And the moment that broke you open. He showed up at your house and almost died. You panicked and stitched him up in the bathroom.
You shouldn't have done that.
The feelings that you didn't use flared and sent you down into a spiral. Uncertain in what you were doing and who you were trapped you into a place you didn't recognize. And by god did it hurt.
You are pathetic. Some random white dude has made a complete fool out of you.
After everything was said and done you ended up taking what he asked of you. To stop hunting and hurting yourself, to let him help you because he wanted you to live. And it felt like a lie, a trap. It was so close to a good ending you submitted yourself to the death of this trap.
You're going to die if you stay with him.
Being in love with him was even harder. Every instinct you had was to leave, don't touch him or get him hurt. It didn't matter he was always in danger because of his job. No. It only mattered that you could hurt him. His family.
You shouldn't be here. Leave before you do your damage.
Two years went by. You had never hurt him or his family. Your parents were okay. No one hurt you.
This is a fantasy.
It nagged in the very back of your mind. But you learned to move passed it. Even if it was right you never wanted to wake up.