“No,” Bruce says, cradling you in his arms. “No, no, no. You’re okay. Please.” He needs to calm down. He needs to think, but all he sees is the blood pouring out of your abdomen. Your nose is bleeding, your lip split.

He did this. He hurt you. Bruce is supposed to be your big brother. He’d basically raised you when your parents had been killed. But, in a moment of fear toxin induced delirium, he’d done something unthinkable. “Hey,” he says, pulling off his mask. “Eyes on me.”