[ WP ] A superhero struggles with anxiety and depression

Ed sat down at the bar. He immediately noticed that the space around him had started to clear out. He hadn ’ t expected a dive looking bar to be busy on a Tuesday. The walls were painted black, and there was a distinct lack of light even considering the bar was a half level down from the street. Calling it a dive bar wasn ’ t fair though. It didn ’ t look like much from outside, but Inside everything was clean but worn. Much like himself. Well, maybe not the clean part. 
 
 “ Can I help... phew buddy you reek. ” The bartender had finally noticed him, he was a young guy probably working his way through college and you could tell he spent most of his free time at a gym. He was noticeably working up the nerve to throw him out. Ed looked down at his outfit. His left jean leg was ripped off at the ankle and there were deep a couple deep gashes on his calf. That must have been from today, he wondered idly if that had hurt at all. His shirt was stained with what he assumed were his own body fluids. His body looked like it had missed a few dozen of its last meals. He mended quickly, but his ability to not die didn ’ t mean it was particularly graceful. If only he could ’ ve been one of those heroes with super strong skin. 
 
 “ Sorry, I ’ ll leave ” Ed said, low enough that he doubt the bartender heard him. Then the kids eyes widened. 
 
 “ My god, you ’ re him aren ’ t you? ” The bartender's voice was an octave or two higher than previously. Maybe he was nervous? It was hard to tell anymore, Ed probably needed to get out more. 
 
 “ You ’ ll have to be a little more specific… ” Ed extended his hand, clearly looking for a name. 
 
 “ You ’ re the DeadBoy. ” He shifted away from DeadBoy ’ s outstretched hand. “ What can I get you? ” 
 
 Mildly relieved that he wasn ’ t getting thrown out he looked at the shelves, when was the last time he ’ d had a drink? “ Gin in a big glass. ” There that should get things started, he had after all, come here to drink and forget about his life for a couple hours. He deserved that right? 
 
 Shortly thereafter a tall glass with ice and clear liquid was set down in front of him. He picked it up and took a whiff, nothing. His sense of smell was still gone from a fight with a plucky new villain down in Atlanta. He ’ d had a name like The Mechaninator or something. Some kind of gas he ’ d used along the way had obliterated DeadBoys lungs and sense of smell. He took a big gulp and tasted the barest hint of juniper. 
 
 “ Oh well ” he muttered. People had overheard his name, the space around him had continued to grow. He didn ’ t blame them but he didn ’ t think it was entirely fair, what did they expect him to do? 
 
 Last year this time, as spring was hitting Philadelphia DeadBoy, or Ed as he was known then was a budding superhero working on stopping bank heists and muggings. Relishing the rush of adrenaline and in retrospect hopelessly optimistic. That had changed when the Hall of Heroes had been bombed from space by some unknown ( and lucky ) criminal. In a single stroke the world ’ s greatest heroes had been wiped out. Heroes like DeadBoy had tried to pick up the slack, but the gap in power had created chaos and against battle tested villians used to tangling with the world's greatest heroes… well it hadn ’ t been pretty. 
 
 DeadBoy had cheated, his other power was animating and controlling the dead; and after defeating his first supervillain he had realized that the reanimated kept their powers. Besieged by villains DeadBoy broke into the vault of the greatest superhero that had ever lived. Dead from old age and yet without a hint of decay on his still strong body - DeadBoy had brought him back. The public had not approved, although the old man had reluctantly accepted when Ed has explained the situation to him. Together they had brought order back to the east coast. The midwest was still a battleground and the west coast was gone - divided up into fiefdoms under the control of various villains. 
 
 His drink was finished. The bar had cleared out quite a bit, Deadboy assumed he was the most likely reason for the sudden lull in business. “ Do you have anything stronger? ” He asked the bartender. 
 
 “ Uh, no not really. I mean we have a couple higher proof whiskeys and rums if you want to try that? ” he wiped some sweat off his brow, DeadBoy had felt it was pretty cool in here. Odd. 
 
 The last drink may have been water for all it did. “ I ’ ll have a glass of your strongest cleaner. You have Windex or something? ” 
 
 “ To like drink? ” The muscle bound lad asked confused. 
 
 “ What else am I going to do with it? Clean your bar? Yeah, to drink. ” Said Deadboy, starting to get annoyed. A short time later, a martini glass with a bright blue liquid and two olives on a skewer were set down in front of him. He took a drink. It seared his throat and when he took a breath his lungs burned. Eye ’ s watering he looked up to the young barkeep “ perfect, thanks. What do I owe you? ” 
 
 “ Sir, I ’ m not sure I ’ m allowed to accept money for serving cleaning product. This one ’ s on the house. ” 
 
 I wasn ’ t sure if he was hiding a sense of humor under that or just legitimately worried about the health department. DeadBoy slipped back into brooding. A short time later, still early, in an empty bar he decided he was done feeling sorry for himself. It was time to go home. 
 
 Although, it was more like an abandoned tunnel underneath an office building that he stole utilities from. He wondered briefly if his good deeds were offset by his bad. Finishing his drink he walked back to the door. Nothing, no buzz, not even any pain. Too many fights too close together. He caught a look at himself in the mirror. His clothes new only weeks ago were tattered and stained. Jeans and a t-shirt. He looked emaciated, with deep sunk reddened eyes. Tall, straight, and all angles and hard planes. Captain Magnificent wouldn ’ t approve, no doubt. Going to a bar was beneath him. But at least in between fights he preferred to be inanimate, returning to death ’ s embrace until DeadBoy had to roust him. Maybe it would be easier to just give up? 
 
 I ’ d heard the life on the west coast wasn ’ t so bad once you got used to having an overlord. There were always new technologies. Once these supergenius types carved out a small empire their bored minds made all kinds of new vices and virtual realities. 
 
 It was bitter cold outside as the sun was setting. The wind picking up the last of the winter ’ s chill. The cold was reinvigorating. It wasn ’ t time to quit, even if the public boo ’ d him and the press highlighted his failures over his successes. Not yet. If he was lucky the next generation of heroes would come and unburden him and the captain and they could slip back into obscurity. For now there was work to be done.
