Benjamin Urich to receive Pulitzer posthumously
The words repeated in Tim's head, he was to receive it for his dad.
No, there was such a sense of wrongness, he could hardly put on the suit, which made him feel gawky, and out of place in it. His real clothes, were back at home, the baggy jacket or the uniform. He belonged in them.
Blood was on his hands. Not his own.
His dad was trying to tell him something important.
He was not listening, not entirely, too caught up in trying to brag, show how amazing it was that Daredevil—he was back.
His hands are shaking on the stage, the award in his hands, it is all so faces in the crowd assume it is from sadness, restraint, in a way it is. But, mostly his hands shake in fury, these people, some of them could have saved his father.
They let him die, they strung him along, claimed to be his friend..God, how he hates them all.
That lawyer, the pasty one, Nelson, you only care when he's gone, you only came to his funeral, but spent the rest of your time avoiding him. Letting him search after Mapone, when you knew.
Oh, yeah, he had pieced that together, he had followed his dad for a while as he searched, trying to keep him safe.
He hates so much, but he is exhausted from it, mostly because he knows it was really his own damn fault that his dad lost his life, not theirs.