Chapter Text
Sometimes, you just need a break from everything you're doing. But sometimes that seemed completely impossible, so Spitfire never really took one.
Or, more accurately, he never took the kind break he wanted to take(that wasn’t meant to rhyme and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for a lot of things, actually). Spitfire always made sure that he wasn't always working or training, made sure that he had time to stop and be as normal as possible for someone like himself.
Then again, maybe that last one was part of the problem.
If Spitfire felt he could take the kind of break he wanted, he would go to some rainless desert or abandoned volcano and accelerate/drive around as much as possible for a few hours, but he had a team to lead, friends he lived with.
He couldn’t just hide away from them, just blow them all off. Even the ones who didn’t entirely like him, he had to be around, to lead, to continue acting like he wanted to do anything other than hide away like a coward.
But he couldn’t, because he was in charge of bringing them all together, they were his, his very own responsibility, he’d never had one of those before, and he was almost desperate to prove he could handle it. But maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t meant for this. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted Eon’s offer to join the Skylanders and be a Supercharger. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come here, to this wonderful world of magic and sky that he clearly didn’t belong in.
And that was what scared him, the thought that maybe he should have stayed in the compound, should have stayed and become an ordinary, unbroken, perfect soul.
Intellectually, of course, he knew that, even if he shouldn’t be here, everyone else back home was better off without him, a reckless, arrogant, hateful thing.
It didn’t mean he deserved to live such a wonderful life, though. He fucking abandoned everyone who loved or needed him for the elders sakes, it didn’t matter that he was different now, he wasn’t like the redeemed, this was their world and they belonged here, meanwhile he was the child of foreigners who got lucky.
But no one said anything. Obviously they didn’t, things were different here, things were better, but that didn’t mean he deserved it.
He couldn’t let anyone know he believed that though, because so many of them would have their worldviews shattered if they knew what he believed about himself and what he had been.
He was a demon.
He was a an adrenaline junkie.
He was a liar.
He was a spinless deadbeat.
He was a whore.
He was a disgrace.
And he had nothing he could use to defend himself from that.