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In hindsight, this was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
How could you be so stupid? a small voice asked him from the back of his mind. No, it wasn’t Babs, the signal was switched off and he knew it. The only sound he could hear was that of his soft heart’s rythym in tune with his soft thoughts ostracizing themselves from his reckless side, the side that’s going to get (another) someone killed one day.
Something was off, he told himself. Something was off and the demon in front of him told him, assured him, that he was going to pay the consequences.
And then the Light turned on.
At the small grace of silence, he only knew he was walking on glass—glass that read “your actions will jeopardize the League’s already jeopardized reputation.”
But this glass also had land mines etched into the makings of its molecular structure. Land mines planted by adults playing a children’s game, children playing an adults’ game, and he couldn’t understand what he could and couldn’t do for either of them anymore. He was walking on a very thin sheet of glass and land mines, between vigilante and whatever line he’s crossing, and he was
O̸B̶E̸Y̷
trying not to feel engulfed in happiness with it. He could’ve sworn he had something important to do—and now he does, this was supposed to be a recon, an illegal recon, yes, but that wasn’t important. He... he doesn’t know where exactly he and Lightning’s ended up, but all he’s getting is a weird wave of happiness, and then-
O̵͙̍B̵͕͖̯̙̮͍͈̿E̵͚̜͕̺̅̓̉̈Ý̵̙̂͗͘
and then there’s a weird wave of sorrow. And with Grayson Sorrow comes Grayson Memories and with Grayson Memories comes Graysons’ Deaths and Jason’s Death and Wally’s Death and why does everything seem like it’s suddenly falling?
O̶̱̝̼͓̜̤͇͂̄̾͠B̴̠̝͉̋̽̾͋͑̈Ẽ̵͇̱̈̿̌͛̕͝Y̶̩̠̺͉͊́́̍̽̃̊̀͝
And then back to happiness-
Ö̷̩̰̳̰̥̻̫͉̳͖̀́̊̈́͂͒͒͋͗́͂͐̈́̾̐̚̕͝ͅB̸̢̺̦͔̅Ę̸̧̡̢̧̧̛̠͓̜̠͚̲̟̯͚̻̲̻̤̻͚͇̗̅̊̋̈̃̎́̿͌͜͝͝ͅÝ̴̧̨̗͖̟̜͓̦̲̹̤̩̖͉̳̟́͋͌́̐̉͑̓͜
Then sorrow-
O̶̢̮͖̩̞̫͋̅̑͌̑̔̊̌͂̂́͂̄͂̅̔̏̔̐̚͝͝͝͝B̷̡̗̘̹̬̻͚̯̮͙̮͎͎̱̫̣̜̹̥̜̤̳̀̅̏̉̒̾̚͜Ę̴̦̯̫͉̟͙͕̈́̂͜͜Y̷̡̢̪͔͖̠͓͍͓̙̯͓̹̯̞̞̹̙̆̀
Back to happiness-
And back again and again and oh God he’s just so tired right now. He can’t feel a thing.
He feels both twice as light and as heavy as he used to be, yet he barely whispered a word.
He still can’t feel a thing.
He feels exhausted from the incessant enlightening words ringing in his eardrums, yet he’s still listening because he can’t even hear his heartbeat anymore.
He’s dying, yet at the same time, living, and it h̴u̷r̶t̶s̵.
He’s emotionally drained and he can’t trust the thoughts in his head anymore. They’re ricocheting all over the place. He feels a soft migraine coming up, in tune with the soft words rebounding in his mind. The soft words that promise bliss at submission, a merciful escape from his numbing senses, a quiet tune that won’t change its coda.
So he listens—he listens and he waits, because
M̵͖͑Y̴̡͓̔ ̷̤͎̖̅ C̵̘͖̯̍Ó̸̺͙͒̚M̷̢͑̽͂M̶͖̩̀A̴̺͑̿N̸̢̏͂͝Ḍ̶̩̀͂ ̸̘̄̓͊ I̷̻̍́͝S̴̖͔͈̚͠͠ ̸̡͎͙̂ D̶̪̬̘̀̋Ą̶̗͑̎̚R̴͓̃́ͅK̸̯̹̐̆̀Ş̷͚̓Ê̵̘I̶̛̯͝Ď̵͕̯̖’̴͖̆̂̎ͅŚ̸̡͛̋ ̸̟͇̯̓͂W̶͇͕̃̅Ì̶̮̑͝Ļ̴͙͂̇̈́L̷͉͎̃̆̂
Something was off, he remembered telling himself. Something was off, but now it’s on, the demon assured him, and he waits.