Heath's blood ran cold and a shiver reverberated through his spine. So he did it. He really did it. Heath stood there a little shell shocked, staring at his dead phone, where snow collected and melted from its warmth. He pocketed the phone and the simple movement causing pain in his hand and shoulder. He looked at his shoulder wound, which was actually a bit more serious than a simple graze. The bullet had ripped through his flesh, the skin jagged and bleeding.
He needed to get home. He was sure Mom would be able to fix him up. He wanted to confide, and get the sweet love she always comforted him with.
Thirty minutes later, Heath arrived home. His house was decent in the narrows, but never permanent. He lived within the intricate safehouses his Dad managed.
He knocked on the door and waited until a shuffling was heard behind. Heath saw a silhouette underneath the door.
"Mom?" Heath said warily, hearing a gun cock, loading a bullet into its chamber.
"Uh...Dad? Come on-"
"BABYYYYYY!" Harley squealed, swinging open the door, then frowning at the site of her son.
"Well jeez Heath you'd you kill? Come on its cold outside. Lookie what you left at home!" Harley waved the gun in his face. Heath grumbled took the gun, turning on the safety, and sticking it in the waist of his pants, wincing as the gash stung and ached, letting his mom push him into the safehouse.
Heath sat on the toilet, topless as he let his mom got the materials to suture his wounds. He waited, get a hot wet towel, cleaning his bloodstained chest, hands and face, the dingy towel turning pink the a darker maroon. His face was swollen, his right eye closing up with a purple bruises. He was still bleeding a lot, his gash oozing dark blood, running sluggishly down his arm.
Harley came back in, blonde hair in a singular high ponytail, tanktop, and tight jeans, sporting eyeglasses and various materials and a half empty bottle of tequila.
Heath uncorked it and took a long swig, feeling the burn go down his throat.
"Oh yeah, you're gonna need it!" Harley said as she cleaned the wound, pouring alcohol on the deep gash, making Heath yell out in pain. Heath gritted his teeth as he rook another long swig of tequila, feeling his mother's precise hand pulling a curved needle through his flesh.
"Don't be a pussy, Heath, I'll be done in a moment. Who did this to you?"
"One of Dad's fucking goonies?"
Harley paused, smoldering with anger at her son. You let Puddin's two-bit goonies do all this to you!? Did you kill him? You better or Puddin's gonna be pissed." Harley threaded the needle through Heath's skin a bit rougher than necessary, clearly making her distaste known.
"Yeah, well fucker deserved it, Mom. And yeah, I-I did. I killed him. I just don't remember, is all. When Dad's getting home?"
"When he gets done ripping off Uncle Two-Face." Harley answered honestly.
Uncle Two-Face. He hadn't seen his ugly mug in a while. Maybe he ought to swing by at somepoint.
Heath actually realized that he did miss his family. His Mom and Dad. Uncle Two for One, Deadshot, even 'uncle' Bane, family friend Scarecrow and definetly Auntie Ivy. He should definetly talk to Two Face.
Heath winced again as the needle pulled tgrough his skin tightening and closing his wound.
"The goon had a fucking gun, Mom. I only had my witchblade- ow, ow, OW! Jeez Mom!"
"Baby that'd why you always carry a gun, darlin'."
" I can't. Really have a gun at school Ma. Dad is so fucking stupid, I hate-"
A sudden hard slap came across his face, hitting so hard it gave him an instant headache.
"... Don't you eva talk about you Dad like that. All he does is to protect you! Puddin loves you, and you dare speak about him like that!"
Heath felt bad. Mom was right. She was always right.
'Yeah...Sorry Mom,." Heath said, sorry about what he said about his dad.
"There, all done." She snipped the thread and gave him a clean towel.
"Take a shower, your tracking blood all over the house." Harley smiled and closed the door.