Work Text:
He stares across the city, just over his knees. A storm is brewing if the wind whipping around him has anything to say. The clouds roll in above the city, dark and angry. He should probably head back to his apartment, find cover.
A drop of water hits his cheek. Holding out his hand, he realizes that the rain has yet to start.
“Fuck.” His voice comes out in a warble.
He wants to get angry like he did earlier. Instead, the tears keep falling down his cheeks, the empty heat spreading throughout his body. He’s out of control of his own body, his limbs shaking violently as the sobs break out of his mouth. His eyes burn with tears even though they’re already falling down his cheeks. All he can do is let the broken awfulness that makes up his life out in a sob.
The worst part is that he can’t do anything but feel it all. That gnawing feeling of dread, the burning fire of embarrassment, the cold heat of envy for his brothers’ seemingly natural ability to always feel normal. Why was he the one given this curse?
Vibrant lime eyes peek over the edge of the building.
“Buttercup?” Through his tears, her guilty face then the rest of her is revealed.
“Hey…” She glances at his face, looking away quickly. Her shoulders tense and she sucks in a breath. “Are you okay?”
“Were you here this whole time?” He’s unsure if he’s angry or mortified.
Settling next to him, she gazes out across the city, like he was. The guilt hasn’t quite faded from her face, but she seems more serene.
“Yeah, I saw you when I was doing my rounds and then you started… well, you know.” She gestures to his tears quickly. Heat rises to his cheeks and he’s quick to dry them the best that he can.
“Fucking hell,” he sniffles. “I should’ve just gone home.”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
The green puff doesn’t move as he wipes away the snot and tears. At least she has the decency not to stare at him while he does so.
“So,” she breaks the silence after he finishes making himself look presentable. “Want to tell me what you’re doing up here?”
Indignant annoyance flashes up into his chest. “Why should I tell you?”
She holds up her hands placatingly. “I get it, I get it. I’m being insensitive or whatever. But you aren’t exactly one to… you know, on top of a roof. I just want to make sure that you aren’t about to jump or something.”
“What the hell?!” He jerks back. “I’m not fucking suicidal you insensitive prick.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know that? You’re crying on a roof,” she waves wildly. “Alone! For all I know, you took some anti-X and are about to try to swan dive off the roof.”
“I’m fucking not! I just fought with my brother, asshole.” He glares, half-convinced she’s a clone or something for a superhero who should have had some sort of sensitivity training. “Jesus Christ, I hope you don’t talk to actual civilians like that.”
“I don’t,” she smirks, head tilted to the sky. “But you’re not a civilian so it’s all good.”
“Is it though?”
“Good enough.” She waves him off. “Anyway, why’d you fight with Boomer?”
He pauses. He did tell her that he fought with his brother.
“Wait, how do you know it was Boomer?”
“You don’t walk away from a fight with Brick without shit getting resolved then and there.”
He blinks. “Wow, I didn’t know you knew us like that?”
She scoffs. “Of course, I’m not fucking stupid.” Her indignance turns into an embarrassed smile. “Plus, Bubbles texted me.”
“Ah,” he deadpans. “That makes more sense.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” She nods, settling back onto her palms. “You never answered my question.”
He sighs, running a hand down his face. Should he? The shrink seemed to think talking would help him. And whatever he’s been doing clearly isn’t helping either so might as well.
“He was just trying to help, but I didn’t want to hear it.”
The pit in his stomach doesn’t necessarily get lighter, but he doesn’t feel any worse. Still, he leans into his knees, eager to stop making eye contact with his counterpart.
“I just found out that I’m Bipolar. I know, big fucking shocker that the ex-supervillain has a mental illness, but it’s the first that I’m hearing about it. I didn’t think it was exactly normal or nothing, but I thought… well, I guess that was just my shitty personality or something. Anyway, turns out it was my brain the whole time.”
“Shit, Butch. That sounds like an awful thing to feel.” At least she doesn’t sound disgusted or anything. He’s unsure if he could deal with that right then.
“Yeah, but I took it out on Boomer.” He squeezes further into himself. “I feel like such an asshole.”
“Good.”
He whips his head out of its cave to glare at her, but she’s stone-faced, staring at him with some sort of sympathy.
“I know you weren’t trying to be an asshole, but that’s how it comes across. And, Bipolar or not, you’re still obligated to being respectful to him. Even if he was being a bit pushy at the time.”
She continues to look at him with the serious but kind face that is usually reserved for helping civilians in the middle of a crisis. The pressure in his chest lessens somewhat at the familiar look. She’s more than capable of handling any situation she puts her mind to. He can rely on her. He can trust her.
“Yeah…” he breathes. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m definitely right,” she insists, relaxing into herself somewhat. “’Right’ is my middle name.”
“I thought it was Elizabeth?” he jokes.
“Who told you that?”
“Boomer.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Nah,” he waves her off, shifting his one leg straight. “I won’t get to apologize to him that way.”
She smiles, all teeth. “Pity. I was thinking of a great way to strangle him.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs, shoving her with the most minimal force.
“Nah.” She tilts her head back, letting the still growing winds push her short hair off her face. “You’d miss me.”
“In your dreams.”
“More like yours.”
“Shut the fuck—”
The crack of thunder cuts him off. He looks up just in time for a torrent of rain to hit him in the face.
“Shit!” Buttercup bolts into floating above the roof top. “We’d better get home.”
He nods, zooming past her. Hearing her offended ‘hey,’ he allows himself to admit that he feels a bit lighter. And yeah, he still feels like the world is going to end a little bit, but he has people who’ll support him. The psychiatrist said that he could overcome this. That he could exist with it not taking up such a big portion of his life. That he could know stability. Maybe Buttercup can help keep him in check. Either way, that’s what he wants, the weight to fall off and feel normal.