A/N: Additional Tw (potentially spoilers): Panic attacks.
Red, her hair had been red as had her hands. Her face, her chest. Red. All of it red. His hands. His fault. All his fault. Black hair-Red hair. Small hands, red hands, cold hands. Dripping, pouring red all around. Red hands. His hands. Sirens. Shouting. Cold hands. Pressing hands. Hard surface. So wet. Dripping wet. Dripping red. Dripping tears. Dripping hands.
Cold. Clammy. Sticky, wet and sticky. Not fair. His fault. Clenched hands. Trembling limbs.
Sirens. For him? His fault. Shivering. Shaking. Cold. Sticky
Screaming. Shouting in his head. Sharp sounds, breaking, drilling.
Young so young. His face. Her face. Blood red.
His fault.
Touching hands. His fault.
Gunshot. Dead. His fault.
Boom.
Tick. Tick Ticking.
Slow. Too slow.
Exploring hands. His fault.
Invasive hands-
Stop! Make it all stop. Bruce help! Help! Babs help! Wally Help! No- his fault. Always his fault.
He tried. He tried so hard. Nothing mattered. Nothing he tried mattered. Nothing ever mattered.
Nothing inside. Everything inside. Hollow. Everything is Hollow.
Nothing.
Heavy. Chest. Weight pressing down. Can't breathe. Can't breathe.
Can't breathe. Throat closing. Swallowing. Enveloping. Hands scraping. Choking.
Breathe. Can't breathe. Pressure. Chest. It's here. Always here. Can't breathe.
Hollow. His Chest is Hollow. Always Hollow.
Make it stop. Make it stop! Just make everything stop.
If this doesn't make sense it will hopefully make more sense when I publish Guilt tomorrow. Also a question: What would you think about me possibly adding some comfort sometime in the future. No promises though.