Life can change || Invincible x DC

Subsituite Hero

It was an awkward moment in the apartment as Mark and Barbara sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Neither of them knew what to say—there were far too many words to choose from, each weighed down by old regrets and half-forgotten promises. In their earlier years, they had been inseparable, two kids who swore they'd always have each other's backs. But then came the incident that put Barbara in Gotham General, and everything changed. For Mark, that memory hurt more than any punch he'd ever taken. Even worse was the last time they'd spoken, when Barbara had begged him to stop what he was doing—stop breaking the law, stop walking the path that would only lead to a jail cell. He hadn't listened, and then Batman and the Justice League had gotten involved, blowing things out of proportion. Still, he couldn't deny that he'd chosen that road in the first place. Even now, he wasn't sure he regretted it, since it led him here in a roundabout way. But it left him with regrets, especially where Barbara was concerned.

The silence between them stretched. Mark pretended to study a stain on the carpet, while Barbara stared at a spot on the wall. Outside, the muffled sounds of Debbie's neighbors echoed through thin walls—a TV turned up too loud, someone shouting from the hallway. The living room was small and cramped, the sofa taking up most of the space.

Finally, they both spoke.

"I'm so—"
"Lis—"

They stopped, looked at each other, and tried again.

"Sorry, you go."
"Sorry, you go."
"No, you."
"No, you."

They both realized how ridiculous they sounded and broke into laughter. The tension eased, at least for a moment. But that light mood slipped away as quickly as it came, and Mark felt his face grow serious again. The memories flooded back, guilt piling up in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Barb," he said quietly, eyes dropping to the floor once more.

Barbara frowned, confused. "Sorry for what?" she asked, moving her gaze from his hands to his face. From her perspective, Mark was the victim in all of this. She couldn't figure out what burden he felt he needed to own up to.

Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "For a lot of things, I guess. For not listening to you when you told me to straighten out. But mostly..." He paused, fighting the lump in his throat. "Mostly for not talking to you again after you left the hospital."

He couldn't shake the image of Barbara lying in that alley, blood pooling under her. He remembered how it felt to see her lying in a hospital bed, his best friend—his only friend—stabbed because he'd picked a fight he shouldn't have. Barbara slid closer to him on the couch, ignoring the dull ache in her side. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "I get it," she said, voice softening. "You felt guilty about what happened. You blamed yourself. But I never held it against you, Mark. It hurt more knowing that I'd lost my best friend than anything else."

Her words cut through him. She had been the one who got stabbed, and yet she worried about losing him. He swallowed hard, staring at her hand on his arm. He remembered how warm it felt when they were kids, how she'd always grab his sleeve and drag him off to some new adventure.

Now, her touch reminded him that he had abandoned her when she needed him most. He'd been so wrapped up in his own guilt, he never thought to ask how she felt—about the alley, the hospital, about him.

Barbara saw the sorrow in his eyes and felt her heart twist. She raised her other hand, cupping his cheek and gently tilting his head so he'd look at her. "It's okay, Mark," she whispered. "We were kids. Don't be so hard on yourself."

She remembered the scrawny boy who always tried to protect her, who always told her that someday they'd leave Gotham and see the world. That kid was still there in Mark's eyes, behind all the pain and guilt.