Ballad of a Prodigal Son

by Patchwork Author

At the end of the day, Grant's just broken and human and doesn't know his own mind. A little bit of Ward's internal, very angsty and very disjointed, thoughts.

I chose Garrett.

I chose Hydra. I chose home.

He put a bullet through your stomach, almost took you from me.

I chose Garrett.

You all put your hearts in my hands to protect.

So I broke them.

Am I not evil? Am I not good? Did he not save me from hell?

I can switch the masks as many times as I want, neither of them feel right.

I'm falling in love with you.

So I chose the darkness.

If light and family and love cannot change me, am I lost? Am I Maynard or am I Grant?

Cut off one head, two take its place. Do I believe it or am I defending my family? Isn't that what you're doing?

I don't care about world domination. I care about Garrett.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

It was supposed to be bullets in your heads, soldiers at our command.

It was supposed to be sleepy morning, slow dancing to cheesy love songs.

It was supposed to be game night.

It was supposed to be out of the darkness, into the light.

I've done my job. Succeeded. Still the best at what I do.

Someday I'll kiss you again, maybe you won't hate me. And I already know how I'll die, once Garrett no longer wants me. I am not Coulson, my soul cannot be saved, only taped together.

You will be happy to see me die, or you will mourn, I don't know which.

Maybe I'll finally be at peace, no brothers or fathers to please, no traitorous heart, no blood on my tongue or hands.

After all, Death is the only creature with no expectations for me to ruin.