Your Hands Are Gravity While My Hands Are Tied

Try to Understand You Are Just a Man

Blitz's small, scrawny body tried to keep up with Cash's long strides. His father didn't slow down, didn't even look back to see if Blitz was following. Blitz's smaller self stared at the back of Cash's head as he tried to keep up, practically running.

"You're too slow." Cash's voice echoed throughout the area. "If you can't keep up, you're useless to me."

Blitz looked around, realizing he was in the warehouse from the raid. But he was still a small child. It was much scarier without his muscles, without his weapons, knowing he didn't have a team. Knowing that he was all alone, even with his father by his side.

"I'm sorry," he said to his father, but it fell on deaf ears. He felt tears leak from his large eyes as his small legs pumped furiously. Suddenly, his legs grew, and he was back in his adult body, his father no longer standing where he'd been seconds before. But he was still in the warehouse, and bullets were suddenly flying throughout the air,. His shoulder throbbed with the gunshot wound, and he clutched at it, trying to stop the pain. But no matter how hard he tried to stop it, the blood kept flowing, staining his hands red.

"Why did you protect him?" a voice hissed in his ear, cold and accusatory. "He doesn't care about you. He never has."

"I know," Blitz muttered, his voice sounding small even to his own ears. He cleared his throat and then said much louder, "I know that!"

"Then why do you keep trying? Do you think he'll change?"

He twisted around, looking for the voice. But there was nobody in the room, just dark shadows racing throughout the room, as the bullets continued flying. The shadows moved closer to him, closing around him, suffocating him. He tried to move, to fight back, but his body felt heavy, as if the air was made of water.

The dream shifted again, and Blitz found himself in a familiar place—his childhood bedroom. Well, it was as close to a bedroom as you could get in a moving circus. He looked at the bed, his heart pounding just at the sight of it.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding, his body drenched in sweat. "Oh God," he groaned as the flinch irritated his injury. He laid there for a moment, his chest heavy as he tried to catch his breath. The dream was already fading from him, but the emotions it had stirred up—fear, anger, shame—lingered, clinging to his sweat. He rolled over, wincing as the movement, jostled his injured shoulder, but he needed to move or he'd go insane. He'd never been able to protect himself, not until he'd become an adult, not until he'd become strong enough, good enough with his weapons. If it hadn't been for Fizz, his entire childhood would have been shit.

The door creaked open, and Blitz tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun he kept under his pillow. But when he saw who it was, he relaxed slightly, though his irritation flared.

"Go away," he growled, his voice rough from sleep.

Loona stood in the doorway, her usual scowl marring her face. "You were screaming," she said, her voice sounding a strange mixture of nonchalant and gentle.

Blitz looked away, his jaw clenched. "I'm fine. Just... leave me alone."

Loona didn't move. She stood there, her eyes searching his face for something—for what, Blitz didn't know. "You're not fine," she stated. It wasn't question.

He gritted his teeth, and scowled. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Loona glared back. "You are not."

"Do you even care?" he snapped, then instantly regretted it as a flash of hurt passed her face. He wasn't trying to hurt her. It was just all he could seem to do.