The toll that the encounter with Nightmare had left on Tate psychologically was steeper than even he realized. He hadn’t slept properly since — having night terrors that left him waking up in cold sweats. Sometimes it didn’t seem like he was awake, still seeing shadows for a moment until they fully faded away. His dreams were different from the visions he’d had in the diner, if they could even be called visions. The most prominent one was always him standing beside Giovanni and watching him be shot.
It was reminiscent of when Ky and Julia were walking to the bus stop for school and passed by a deal. They’d both almost died that day. Two children being shot at just for seeing something and trying to pretend they didn’t. Tate had hunted down the people responsible and nearly beaten them to death. The first time he’d ever really lost control and it was because he blamed himself. If only he’d been there, maybe he could have stopped them from even being shot at. Maybe he could have saved his little sister from waking up in the middle of the night screaming for weeks, saying she kept having dreams of the scary men with the guns. Maybe he could have saved Ky from refusing to walk the same route home ever again, adding sometimes upwards of twenty minutes to any trip they took just because of fear.
When faced with one of his own biggest fears, what did Tate do? Throw himself in the way and hope he could stop it. Coming face to face with Walter again after a year since putting him away got under his skin more than he knew, but then seeing that Gio was about to possibly die? He didn’t even think. If it saved his friend’s life, that would have been the day Tate died. No one could have predicted that Walter would have stopped Warmonger from taking a fourth and probably fatal shot. No one could have predicted that Tate survived through open heart surgery, either. Absolutely no one at all could have predicted that Tate would get up just five days later and walk out of the hospital by himself without telling a soul.
Any normal person would have been bed bound for at least several weeks after the strain and trauma that Tate’s body had endured, but he just wanted to get away. He slid on the jacket that Gio had left in case he got cold, zipped it up halfway, and managed to leave without even a nurse stopping him. That had always been one of Tate’s secret superpowers and curses. He could go overlooked easily by nearly everyone. It had been getting more difficult lately, as he’d not only covered himself in tattoos but was also starting to get taller and more muscular. Still, people had always looked through him, never at him. In this case it’d been a blessing.
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He’d walked down the streets for hours. Somewhere along the way he’d stopped into a convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes before continuing on to a destination that he didn’t even have in mind. He’d silenced his phone shortly after leaving the hospital, as it still continued to pop up with one of his siblings or Gio trying to call him. His voicemail was full and by the time he came to a stop on his walk he was up to fifty-eight missed calls. The worst part was that even his mother had found out about his stay in the hospital. It came out by accident, according to Tana. Ky and her wound up in a yelling match and before either of them knew it the secret had been blurted in front of Julia. Hearing her older brother had been seriously injured, Julia immediately ran to their mother for comfort. Tate was thankful he hadn’t been there for that explosion, though it had ended in both Tana and Ky being slapped for keeping it from her.
The spot he’d picked to stop was a sidewalk that went through a tunnel. The road was fairly empty, as was the sidewalk, and the railing made a nice place to sit. He pulled out his phone to see Gio was trying to call him again, making it the sixteenth time he’d tried. Tate let out a sigh, staring at the picture of Giovanni that filled his screen before it finally stopped ringing. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pulled out the cigarettes he’d bought. They were cheap, but he didn’t care. He quit smoking almost a year ago. He’d even been proud of himself for it. Always terrified of doing anything addictive, because he didn’t want to end up an addict like his father.
His hand shook as he put the cigarette between his lips and tried to light it. It took a moment for the end of the cigarette to catch, but once it did he shook the lighter before putting it away while he toked to make sure it continued to burn. Finally, he took a long drag and inhaled deeply. It felt like his lungs were screaming. His ribs moved uncomfortably and the left side of his chest ached, but he held in the smoke for several moments before exhaling slowly. Pulling the cigarette away to wipe his mouth before returning it.
He could feel the numbness all the way into his fingertips. His entire body and soul ached. It felt like it wanted to rip apart at the very seams and fall into all the broken pieces that the bandages were trying so desperately to hide — and yet, he just sat there in silence and stared at the concrete wall of the tunnel with his back to the road. What was he supposed to feel, exactly? Pain, regret, heartache, and disappointment? Those were all common feelings to him. Things that he’d grown up with. Things that he’d reserved would always remain. It didn’t matter that they’d repaired the rupture his heart had sustained, nothing could ever fix the crack which grew each time Tate was hit with another painful realization.
What was he going to do about it? Cry and whine? Complain about how hard his life was because of the circumstances he’d been thrown into? No, because that wouldn’t change anything. Instead he’d grin and bear it. He’d continue on just like nothing was wrong. Work his three jobs to pay for his family to keep living barely above the poverty line, drown himself in responsibilities, and pretend he was fine. Why did he choose to keep going on like that? Because he was the oldest. He remembered a time when their mother and father were still together, when they were both happy and healthy. They loved each other just as much as they loved their children and never once resented them for anything — but he also remembered the day it all changed. He watched their father fall into his addiction and lose himself. He watched their mother slowly wither away and blame all of her children for it quietly. He was the barrier between just how ugly and harsh reality could really be and making sure his siblings didn’t grow up with the weight of the world breaking their backs the same way it did his.
He took all the screaming from their mother, all the blame she casted for her disease, all the hatred she pent up and let out in verbal and physical assaults. He took on the responsibility of taking down Walter when he revealed himself as Leviathan. Every punch, every lash, every kick, every scream, and every shot. He refused to share it with any of his siblings because they already had a shitty life, too. If he just walked out and never came back he’d be no better than Walter. If he laid in bed and let himself waste away because he was too tired to deal with it all anymore he’d be exactly like their mother. Even when the stress began to break him down. When he would lose track of time and his body would just carry him to the next thing that needed to be done. A drone; his life devoted entirely to bettering his little siblings’ lives since he was only eight. Who was there to protect him? No one but himself.
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He’d stopped smoking the cigarette a while ago, just holding it between his fingers as it burned away. The back of his throat ached. A scratch, an itch that made him feel like he wanted to scream. Just let it all out and then go back to locking it back up. Let it rip him apart so he could stitch himself together all over again. Except he was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a motorcycle inside the tunnel with him.
Looking over his shoulder as it came to a stop directly behind him, watching as the rider pushed his visor up and stared in disbelief. It was dark outside, from what Tate could see. That meant he’d been gone for several hours at least, which would explain the reaction of Giovanni as he hopped over the railing and yanked Tate into an embrace so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. The sigh of relief Gio let out caused him to shudder a bit, meaning the taller man was probably trying to keep himself from crying.
“Don’t ever do that shit again, Crawford.” Gio pulled himself back, gripping Tate’s shoulders tightly as he looked him over. “You had us all so fucking scared, man. Just walking out like that and not answering anything.”
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Tate really didn’t know what to say. He knew the reactions he was going to get from doing it, and he still did it anyway. He flicked his cigarette away and looked up at Gio as he spoke, “I just needed a break.” He felt nothing different with Gio there. Still as numb, but his eyes started to burn as they welled with tears, which eventually began to roll down his cheeks. “Why can’t I get a break, G? All I want is a break.”
Sobs wracked through his frame, causing his body to shake. Gio wrapped his lanky arms back around Tate again, holding him tightly to his chest without a word. They stood like that for a while until it seemed like Tate had finally calmed down. Then, Gio helped him over the railing and put a helmet on his head before speeding off towards Tate’s apartment building. He’d stay to deal with the onslaught that Tana, Ky, and Penelope had in store and only leave once he was sure the man that had nearly died for him could handle it alone again. Tate wouldn’t say it, but it was exactly what he needed. Someone to help him shoulder the weight, even if only for a moment.
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Soon our young heroes will all open up to the idea that they don’t have to take on the world alone any longer. Even though, at their young ages, it feels like it’s simply them against it all. Accepting help doesn’t make one weak, but some people just need a bit more encouragement.
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