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Boothill really does not comprehend it when a little hand tugs on a pant leg. He looks down, regarding the child staring up at him with nothing more than a neutral expression. But those wide eyes are staring up at him and his resolve crumbles away in an instant. Suddenly he is brought back to when he had his daughter, and nothing will stop him from attempting to help this young girl.
He kneels down, sending the girl the friendliest smile he can muster. “What's the problem?”
“My momma she’s…”
Boothill nods, already understanding the issue. Although, that is not a big accomplishment, as it is quite obvious what she needs. “What she look like, sweetheart?”
“Tall,” the girl says, gesturing above her head, balancing on the balls of her feet to gesture to him. “And pretty!”
Boothill chuckles, shaking his head, “I’m afraid that’s a bit too vague for me hun.”
“Oh,” the girl mutters, frowning. However, the frown does not last, a smile spreading on her face almost immediately. “She’s got hair like yours! Long and b…b…blo…?”
“Blonde?”
“Yeah!” The little girl giggles, jumping around a bit. “She has blue eyes too!”
“She sounds very pretty.”
“She is!”
Boothill offers to let her ride on his shoulders, which the girl gladly accepts. And thus starts his afternoon full of carrying this girl around, desperately attempting to find her mother. And when they do, he’s happy with himself. The mother gets to hold her daughter once more and his job is done.
So why is he leaning on a wall for support?
Would his daughter have been like that if given the chance? Would she hop around when excited? Would she make him worry by wandering off at random moments? Would he have been having to rely on a stranger to bring her back?
His breathing grows heavy as he falls onto the ground, his heart racing faster then he can even think to comprehend. He grabs his chest, clawing at it, waiting for this to subside.
Why did he have to survive? Why him? She…she had so much to live for. She barely knew how to walk…she couldn’t even say his name right. So why him? If anyone should have beaten the odds, it should have been her.
His daughter…his joy…forever a part of himself, even if she is not physically with him.
He couldn’t even hold a funeral for her. He didn’t have his friends to support him, let him have a moment to breathe. No, he went right into his revenge, because that is what she deserves. She deserves to be avenged. She deserves the blood he loves spilling in her name.
Nobody saying his name can snap him out of this, as there is nothing to snap out of. He will always carry the pain of surviving a slaughter he had no business living through. It is a part of him as much as his mostly metallic body. His anger with himself will forever live on. Because as long as he lives on, so will his pain…his guilt of simply living.
He never will live, not fully. He sometimes doesn’t even feel human. But he will never tell anyone that, as it would sound far too depressing. So he will keep a happy facade as he slowly makes sure the IPC suffers for eternity. He will be their biggest nightmare, and even when he’s gone, the ghost of him will haunt the organization until it inevitably dies.
He will kill every IPC member if it means this feeling of hopelessness will subside.
But he secretly knows that will never come, because to lose that feeling would be to lose a part of himself, and he does not want to risk losing his daughter again.