All he has is his bed, he looks forward to it at day's end. It's the constant in his life; it never changes.
Companions come and go. People, places, they all come and go and sometimes he wonders how he can still sleep under the crushing pressure, the yearning ache in his sides for something...more.
(As if saving the world wasn't enough)
The bruises fade. The blood, it's not there to stay, it can be washed off.
As far as he knows, he's safe.
But, maybe, he needs another constant.