[Stricken is a good word for what he's feeling right now, this twisting mass of emotion that's rearing its ugly head. He hadn't thought it would hurt this much for someone he barely knew to reject him in such a manner. He'd thought wrong. Not even the comment of 'Batman thinks you're awesome' is enough to shake him from it. But in all honesty, the comment goes in one ear and out the other.
The easy route would be to snap back, defend himself in a way reminiscent of all the arguments he'd had with Ollie once upon a time. But Ollie was a full-grown man with years of life experience under his belt and a penchant for riling him up intentionally regardless of the circumstance.
Yelling at Ollie was stress-relieving. Yelling at Bart would make him feel like an ass for the next five years to come.
Instead, he retracts his hand - the empty air beneath it feels oddly cold - and lets it fall back to rest at his side. The wounded look is wiped away immediately, replaced by the even neutral expression he'd been wearing moments before, and it's almost like the hurt was never there. Almost.]
I—Yes, I did. I don't know how much Batman told you. [Briefly, he recounts the events leading up to it: Iris's death, Zoom's murder, his trial.] We'd been in the future for a month by that time. Something came up; things usually do when you wear the red and gold. It turned out to be more serious than I'd expected and I didn't make it back.
[No anger. No resentment over Bart's implied accusation of his less-than-stellar behavior. Why would there be? Everything he'd said was technically true. Never mind that the world as they all knew it had been about to end, he'd left Iris behind despite her pleas for him not to go and had, in the process, left her without a husband, his children he'd never meet without a father, and Bart without a grandfather. So much for being a great role model.
There is one thing about Bart's little spiel that bugs him enough for him to frown, on top of the everything else that's been said so far.]
action;
The easy route would be to snap back, defend himself in a way reminiscent of all the arguments he'd had with Ollie once upon a time. But Ollie was a full-grown man with years of life experience under his belt and a penchant for riling him up intentionally regardless of the circumstance.
Yelling at Ollie was stress-relieving. Yelling at Bart would make him feel like an ass for the next five years to come.
Instead, he retracts his hand - the empty air beneath it feels oddly cold - and lets it fall back to rest at his side. The wounded look is wiped away immediately, replaced by the even neutral expression he'd been wearing moments before, and it's almost like the hurt was never there. Almost.]
I—Yes, I did. I don't know how much Batman told you. [Briefly, he recounts the events leading up to it: Iris's death, Zoom's murder, his trial.] We'd been in the future for a month by that time. Something came up; things usually do when you wear the red and gold. It turned out to be more serious than I'd expected and I didn't make it back.
[No anger. No resentment over Bart's implied accusation of his less-than-stellar behavior. Why would there be? Everything he'd said was technically true. Never mind that the world as they all knew it had been about to end, he'd left Iris behind despite her pleas for him not to go and had, in the process, left her without a husband, his children he'd never meet without a father, and Bart without a grandfather. So much for being a great role model.
There is one thing about Bart's little spiel that bugs him enough for him to frown, on top of the everything else that's been said so far.]
But why would you think you're not good enough?