Man’s failure isn’t to give up

But to never overcome the fear nestling inside

To let the wound fester

Until every victory tastes like defeat

The hour was late and the air thick with the stench of alcohol. The yellow light of streetlamps washed over a man’s grizzly face through the dirty window as he sipped a glass of whisky on the rocks. His third this evening.

A music box crackled in the corner of the bar, playing the same tune it always did this time of day for the past 20 years. The one constant that the old broken thing adhered to. The old rock tune was distorted beyond measure, but somehow soothing. Not to the ear, but to the soul.

The man had a vacant look on his face. Indifferent and cold, he drummed his fingers rhythmically on the beat-up table.

His messy mane of graying, black hair blended into the poorly lit interior, while a sprawling beard soaked any liquor that might have escaped his gob.

Another sip.

It was time to go. It really was. Most people had gone home already, getting ready for the struggles of the day to come after just a few shots to calm the nerves, but the man… had no reason to go anywhere, but neither did he have any reason to stay. No reason to be anywhere, for that matter. He just drank, pushing any and all thoughts to the back of his head.

Even the thought that he was being watched.

Two men on the opposite side of the room were eyeing him for the past hour or so with this unnerving look in their eyes. They were measuring him in their drunken fever, assessing and plotting.

A phone rang in the man’s pocket. Once. Twice. He finally realized by the third time and picked it up.

- What is it? - he asked in a deep, a bit raspy voice, befitting that of a decade-long smoker.

- Where are you? - the voice on the other side answered with a question. It was a man’s voice. A young adult, but with the confidence of a full-fledged man, and equal annoyance.

- What’s it to you, Jason? - he grunted in return, putting the empty glass on the table with a thunk.

- Are you getting shitfaced again?- he sighed.

- And what if I am? Would that surprise you?

- No. No, it would not. And that’s why I’m so fucking disappointed right now. - he shot back with a low growl. - Where are you?

- Piss off.

- The bar by the Fifth, right? Cool. I’m picking you up in 20 minutes.

- How about you pick up the hint and. Piss. Off. What do you even want from me?

- Your brother’s been calling you for the past 3 hours. Had to call me to get through to you.

- And what made him think I’d even answer you?

- Did you not?

There was silence, followed by a question.

- What do you lot even want from me? Just leave me alone.

- And let you drink yourself to death? Fat chance, old man. Pay the tab and get the fuck out.

- Yeah, I’m getting the fuck out of dodge. Good luck finding me, bloodhound. - he slurred angrily.

- Dirk!

The man froze for a second at the sound of his own name.

- What? - he asked, his tone a bit milder.

- What are you doing with your life?

- What is life doing with me? Tell me. What the fuck did it do to me.

- Right now it is giving you a chance, and you are sticking your fingers in your ears like a child throwing a tantrum. Wake up, you daft old fuck!

- Goodbye - he exhaled the world and slammed his phone on the table.

It really was time to go.

He took a few banknotes out of his wallet and left them on the counter, his hazel eyes stuck on the exit like glue, his mind hazy, but his focus undisturbed. A delicate balance.

Then, as he neared the leather-bound door, he felt something on his shoulder. A hand of one of the men who gawked at him earlier.

- I’m leaving. - he slapped the hand away and growled with an added bit of spite. 

Their eyes met, and though both were quite buzzed, there was a glint of something in the other man’s eye. A sudden realization, mixed with anger.

- I know you! Oh, I fucking know you! - the man, half a head shorter than Dirk with a stocky build and a bushy beard caught him by the collar and pierced him with scornful eyes. 

His breath reeked of cheap vodka, his thick Russian accent only further distorting his speech.

- Well I don’t know you, so fuck off! - he was ready to throw hands, but was caught from behind by the second man, a bear-like Goliath whose smooth, stone face betrayed only a ray of hatred.

- You killed my brother! - the bearded one’s voice got shaky, as did his hands when he shoved him back, further into the steel embrace of the giant behind him. Tears formed in his eyes, but he quickly rubbed them off with a sleeve. - You killed my FUCKING brother! - his voice tittered on the brink of rage and despair.

- I don’t know what the fuck– 

Dirk wanted to object, but got the wind knocked out of him as a powerful blow connected with his liver.

- Take him outside, Yuri! -  he commanded, slamming his due on the counter as well, as tears streamed down his face freely now.

The door swung open with a bang and the cold winter air hit Dirk in the face like a cold shower. Fresh snow cracked underfoot as the behemoth pulled him into the street with ease.

- I don’t fucking know you! Fuck off! - Dirk protested, thrashing like a captured animal, but with each move the giant’s grip tightened.

- But I fucking know you. - the bearded one repeated, hissing through gritted teeth. - I saw your ugly fucking mug on TV some years ago. Some “hero” they called you. Murderer. Murderer!

He raved on in an alcohol-fueled delirium. His hand shot for his pocket and pulled out a knife, its steel blade glittering like pure gold in the yellow light of a streetlamp. Something peeked out from just under his fingers, right on the handle. Military markings. No mistake.

- I’m going to gut you. Cut you to pieces, like you did to my brother. My sweet Boris. My little brother! - he steeled his resolve as their eyes met once more. His hand steady now, he was ready to execute justice. The knife’s point darted towards Dirk’s abdomen.

- I told you, I don’t FUCKING KNOW YOU! - he let out a feral scream and yanked his head backwards, right into his captor’s jaw.

His grasp loosened, giving Dirk the chance to escape. He side-stepped the knife thrust and caught the bearded man’s outstretched arm by the wrist. His grip on the blade was firm. Resolved, even. But it was no match for brute force applied at just the right nerve. Dirk slammed his other hand in the man’s elbow, and with a snap it bent like a plastic straw.

The knife fell to the ground and Dirk kicked it away on instinct, a split second before he had to dodge another grapple from the giant. The big guy had blood dripping from his lower lip, but otherwise was no worse for wear from Dirk’s last blow.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Now that Dirk got a better look at him, the man was truly intimidating. Gone was the mask of calmness, replaced by steaming rage. His teeth glittered as he bared them like a mad dog. The outline of his muscles were visible through his all-too-thin checkered shirt. If he managed to pin Dirk to the ground, it would all be over.

The titan gave Dirk no chance to think and attempted another charge, this time lower, aiming for his midsection, but he jumped to the side at just the right moment to strike back at the man’s leg. One good stomp to the Achilles’ tendon would be enough to incapacitate him, at least for a moment. But if it would only be so easy.

Between the whisky relaxing Dirk’s muscles and the thick winter boots the giant wore, the blow glanced off, leaving him exposed for a moment too long.

A sucker punch came from behind and easily connected with the side of Dirk’s jaw. He came tumbling down like a felled tree, just barely managing to break the fall with his hands.

The men were upon him once more and in a moment of quick thinking, Dirk threw the powdery snow in their faces, blinding them briefly. Then in a desperate attempt to level the scales, threw himself on the shorter one, headbutting him in the stomach and knocking him back. Then came a flurry of blows to the opponent’s kidneys, most of which missed, but the connecting ones squeezed a pained scream out of the man.

But that was simply not enough, and soon enough Dirk got shoved off by the larger man, losing all balance and sense of direction in the mound of freezing snow. Then came the pain. The sharp and radiating pain of being kicked in the stomach. Then again and again, until Dirk stopped feeling anything at all, by which point his vision turned black.

He heard yelling. He heard cursing and the cracking of his own ribs, but felt nothing. He heard the roar of the engine and more yelling. Screaming. And then… nothing.

When he came to, Dirk found himself sitting in the back of a car, covered in a blanket and with a bucket firmly shoved between his thighs. His head bobbed up and down with each bump on the road as his consciousness was slowly catching up to his waking body.

In a daze, he looked around the car, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness that reigned inside the vehicle, disrupted only briefly by rhythmic flashes of light from the outside. Light-brown leather seats greeted him from all around. Clean and evidently cared for, though their age was starting to show in the cracks at the edges here and there. The outside was dark, save for the occasional pillar of light that descended down from the streetlamps.

He recognized this car… he used to drive it once upon a time, after all.

Dirk realized that the radio was playing quietly in the front of the car. Symphonic metal, as far as Dirk could tell, and that alone in his mind was a dead giveaway of whom the driver was.

- Jason… - he groaned, but was instantly interrupted.

- Don’t speak. Just focus on not throwing up. - Jason sighed heavily. - And if you do, aim for the bucket.

- What happened to those bastards?

- It doesn’t matter. - he shook his head, showing just a bit of his chiseled features to Dirk across the car, then asked. - Why were they beating you up?

Dirk took a moment to think.

- It doesn’t matter. - he answered with cold indifference.

- I see… - he nodded with understanding, drumming his fingers on the wheel, his knuckles visibly red.

There was a brief pause. Engine noise, the spin of the wheels, the crackle of snow, the tapping on the window… It had started snowing again.

- Where are you taking me? - Dirk mustered up the strength to ask, though he already knew the answer.

- To your brother’s house.

Dirk took an unsteady breath.

- Why are you doing this to me? - his voice was shaky. - I don’t want him to see me. Not now. Not like this… 

- Then when? - Jason barked, slamming his hand on the wheel, making the car swerve just the tiniest bit.

The little shock woke Dirk up from his stupor and he dove through the seats in a panic, ready to steady the steering wheel, but there was no need. The driver’s platinum-blond pompadour didn’t even waver in this short bout of chaos.

- When will you wake up and live your life like a normal person? - Jason yelled a question dripping with anger and frustration.

- It’s not that easy, Jason. I just–

- Just what? It’s been five years, get over yourself! You are drinking your life away, and I just can’t keep looking at that. Live!

- You know what happened the last time I “lived”!

- One failure does not define you.

- It defined the end of so many lives. So many people who I couldn’t afford to let down, but I did - Dirk fell heavily back to his seat, defeated.

- So much went wrong that day… 

Jason took a deep breath and ran a finger through the small hair-patch on his chin to steady his nerves.

- You’ve done more than anyone thought possible. You were perfect in everything you did.

- And it wasn’t enough. The rest doesn’t matter.

- Doesn’t matter? - Jason looked back at Dirk. 

His golden eyes were full of a strange kind of pain he’d seldom shown others. Not just sympathy mixed with disappointment that Dirk’s grown used to. No. This time, his eyes showed that he was hurt on a personal level. 

- So my life doesn’t matter? - he scratched the outside of his hand nervously.

- Wha–

- You saved me that day, Dirk. Don’t you remember? As the tower was being consumed by flames, you alone stayed to save some experiment nobody else cared about from my father’s lab. Does that not amount to anything? - his scratching got more intense, drawing drops of blood from his skin.

- Jason, I–

- Enough. - he said in a strangely calm tone as he realized what he was doing. 

He wiped the red from his hand as his veins glowed a faint golden hue, and the next very moment the shallow wounds were gone, as if nothing ever happened. 

- “Fleece” has been getting restless these past few days, and your nonsense is not helping. You are going to talk to your brother and that’s that.

Dirk sighed, but wasn’t quite ready to admit defeat.

- What am I even supposed to talk about? It’s been years since I’d last seen him.

- I dunno. You can brag about how you got your ass whooped by some drunkards. That’s a nice conversation starter, if I’ve ever heard one. - he snickered with a faint smile, having gotten his emotions in check. - So you're gonna tell me what the hell that was about, or what?

- The usual. - Dirk sniffled, his eyes drifting to the window on his side. - Disgruntled relatives of a dead soldier. The guy thought I killed his brother or something.

- Did you?

- Dunno. Maybe, maybe not. You tend to forget after a while.

- So what, you let them beat your ass as some kind of misguided atonement?

- What? - Dirk couldn’t hold in a laugh. - No! No… I just had one glass too many. That’s how the cookie crumbles, I suppose. - he shook his head in a quaint kind of amusement.

- Dirk, they really were going to fucking murder you. - there was a hint of worry in Jason’s voice, but he focused on the road.

- But they didn’t, did they? - he looked at Jason’s face, seemingly looking for something which he didn’t find, as the man looked forwards, unperturbed.

- I guess. - he shrugged.

- But enough about this old drunk piece of shit. What have you been up to? It’s been ages since I’d last asked.

- You’ve been too busy running away from the whole world, huh? - he jabbed in a playful tone, his mood lifting a bit. - Same old, same old… the work at the warehouse’s boring as ever. I took up running in the mornings. Mostly to take my mind off things since, you know, it won’t really do anything for me physically…

He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth dropping a bit. 

- Dating’s been kinda shit. Every girl I meet just wants to hook up, and it’s grown old really quickly. Anything long-ish-term goes up in flames the moment I can’t take them out for expensive dates every other day. It’s like… I get it. I’m not exactly rich. I work at a warehouse, god dammit, but I’m not struggling either! Can’t we just chill together? Does every day in a relationship need to be this… struggle to one-up the day before? It all feels so forced, so…

He started working himself up, but stopped the moment he heard Dirk chuckle.

- To be young… Just keep looking and you’ll find the one eventually. In a week. In a month. Maybe even longer than that, but you will, trust me. You’re a good man. - Dirk reached out and patted Jason on the shoulder. - What you should focus on now is being happy on your own… Are you happy?

The question stirred something in Jason’s heart. He slowed down the car a bit, glancing at the man in the back seat with an unreadable expression. He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but quickly closed it shut. He shook his head and focused on the empty road once again.

- I imagined the life outside a little differently, but it’s alright. Anything beats experiments day in, day out. - he gave Dirk a wry smile and reached for the glove box, pulling out a pack of gums. 

He offered one to the man.

- I’m good.

- I’m not. Your breath reeks.

- Touché - he chuckled and quickly took him up on the offer.