#weak days

I think you're gonna need somebody

With time you can waste

There were some days. They were few and far between, but there were days that he couldn’t be who they needed him to be. It would usually happen when he was tired, when there were protestors who hollered that he was unwelcome, when particular battles were lingering in his mind…when there were people that he couldn’t save. He did his best to foresee his weak days, hiding in his room or escaping to patrols before the others could notice something was wrong.

Today he’d missed. Today his emotions got the better of him. Today was a day that Jackieboy had none of his strength and all of his bleeding heart. 

He’d spotted Henrik’s scars as he was washing dishes. They were nothing new: pinkish white indents and raised lacerations striped across his forearms and honestly it was a miracle that he had come far enough in his recovery to have his sleeves rolled up in the open. The damage had been there for months now. Jackie had seen the scars before from time to time, he was used to them—and then he wasn’t and he could see everything he had been helpless to prevent, everything he’d failed to protect him from, and he was bursting into tears in the middle of the dining room.

Henrik had startled at the sudden noise, dropping the plate he was scrubbing and twisting around as the older Ego stumbled blindly to hug him. “Jackie?” he stammered uncertainly even as he returned it. “What is it, what’s wrong? W-Why are you crying?”

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how. He just needed a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, burying his face against him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Failure. Helpless. Useless. Worthless. Waste of space. You’re a burden. You’re making him worry. You should be comforting him, holding him, making him know he’s loved. You don’t deserve this, you don’t have any reason to cry.

But he did. All of his reasons were roiling in his head like tangled electrical wire. There were scars on his best friend and he could have prevented them. There were scars on all of them, his baby brothers, and he hadn’t been there. There were scars on his own body that he should have been able to evade, crippled survivors of attacks that he should have stopped before they started. There was a monster out there planning to raze them to the ground that he should have killed when he had the chance and his father was in a coma and he hadn’t saved him—

What kind of hero are you?

“I’m sorry…I-I’m sorry…”

Eventually they ended up sitting on the kitchen floor, Jackie’s sobs quieting into shuddery hiccups as Henrik murmured soft reassurances—“I’m here, you’re not alone, we’re both okay”—alternating between wiping his soapy hands off on his pants and rubbing down his friend’s back and shoulders. Shame made Jackieboy shake all the more. He wasn’t meant to be this way. He was meant to be strong.

Today he couldn’t be.

Henrik’s bony shoulder dug into his cheek as he rested against it. He’s still too thin, it’s your fault; if he hadn’t been taken he wouldn’t have been starved. The doctor could have asked why all of this was happening, but he didn’t. Jackie was grateful. Today he wouldn’t have been able to withstand it. If Henrik asked him why, he would start trying to unload all of his aches and griefs and he would never be able to stop.

It’s your burden. Carry it yourself, coward.

He was drained. As he cried himself in and out of consciousness, he longed for other days. The days when JJ could stop and smell the flowers he’d planted. The days when Chase could carry his kids on his shoulders. The days when Henrik could wear short-sleeved shirts. The days when Marvin still liked laughing. The days when Jack was still here, looking at what he’d created with affection and pride.

He was scared. Terrified. Petrified.

If those days ever came again, he genuinely couldn’t be sure that the Jackieboy Man they knew—the strong one, the happy one—would be there to see them.