[For Billy, "getting ready" is a lot less physical and more about mental prep-work. Anything that belonged to him here had been brought by Teddy or one of his (their?) friends, and he was already wearing most of it- clean(ish) clothes, familiar old runners, the hoodie bundled up in his lap. Anything else, he doesn't care about. What he focuses on, instead, is getting himself off the ledge.
It's harder to be sure, when Teddy lets him go and turns away. He clutches the sweater to his chest and he breathes, in and out, in and out, reminding himself what it's like to be a normal human being and not a disillusioned madman, what it's like to be someone in control of himself instead of... that. That thing he'd been two weeks ago, a physical manifestation of too much power and too many emotional problems in one body. He thinks, long and hard, no more magic, because the temptation is still there. He could teleport them home. He could remake this entire area to just look like home. He could create another dog and cat and they'd have their kids and then the rest of the Young Avengers would be there and their parents and it would be-
No more magic. No more magic.
He'd promised. His fist clenches more tightly, nails digging into his palm, the gentle pain of it a reminder to himself. No more. He'd promised.
Five minutes is not, ultimately, a very long time when you're used to spending hours in the company of your own head. He's not counting down, but when he glances away from the window at last to see that four and a half have already passed, he feels a sudden rush of panic, his breath catching in his throat, heartbeat picking up. He can't do this. He can't do this. He can't, he can't, he's not ready, he's better off here, he should just bury himself in the blankets and hide there forever and Teddy should-
....
He looks at Teddy, packing his stuff quietly, expecting them to be leaving in all of thirty seconds. He looks at the hoodie in his lap, warm and comforting and for him, because Teddy believed.
Fifteen.
He glances out the window, one hand pressed against the glass. There's a sparrow on the ledge again, on the other side, pecking absently at a few of the crumbs he'd left there, the remnants of a breakfast he'd barely touched. At least someone could enjoy the effort its baker had put into it. The little bird chirps at him aggressively, as if to say, what are you doing there? and flutters off.
Cheeky, he thinks to himself. It's an unexpected thought, a rebuttal to an attitude that he hasn't felt in what feels like forever.
Seven. Six. Five.
He faces the room again, inhales. Exhales.
Three. Two.
His feet drop, hitting the floor. It's the hardest step he's ever taken in his life, but he takes it. He's standing, he's off the window. He's holding the hoodie-turned-lifeline and he's ready.
[Action, October 21st]
It's harder to be sure, when Teddy lets him go and turns away. He clutches the sweater to his chest and he breathes, in and out, in and out, reminding himself what it's like to be a normal human being and not a disillusioned madman, what it's like to be someone in control of himself instead of... that. That thing he'd been two weeks ago, a physical manifestation of too much power and too many emotional problems in one body. He thinks, long and hard, no more magic, because the temptation is still there. He could teleport them home. He could remake this entire area to just look like home. He could create another dog and cat and they'd have their kids and then the rest of the Young Avengers would be there and their parents and it would be-
No more magic. No more magic.
He'd promised. His fist clenches more tightly, nails digging into his palm, the gentle pain of it a reminder to himself. No more. He'd promised.
Five minutes is not, ultimately, a very long time when you're used to spending hours in the company of your own head. He's not counting down, but when he glances away from the window at last to see that four and a half have already passed, he feels a sudden rush of panic, his breath catching in his throat, heartbeat picking up. He can't do this. He can't do this. He can't, he can't, he's not ready, he's better off here, he should just bury himself in the blankets and hide there forever and Teddy should-
....
He looks at Teddy, packing his stuff quietly, expecting them to be leaving in all of thirty seconds. He looks at the hoodie in his lap, warm and comforting and for him, because Teddy believed.
Fifteen.
He glances out the window, one hand pressed against the glass. There's a sparrow on the ledge again, on the other side, pecking absently at a few of the crumbs he'd left there, the remnants of a breakfast he'd barely touched. At least someone could enjoy the effort its baker had put into it. The little bird chirps at him aggressively, as if to say, what are you doing there? and flutters off.
Cheeky, he thinks to himself. It's an unexpected thought, a rebuttal to an attitude that he hasn't felt in what feels like forever.
Seven. Six. Five.
He faces the room again, inhales. Exhales.
Three. Two.
His feet drop, hitting the floor. It's the hardest step he's ever taken in his life, but he takes it. He's standing, he's off the window. He's holding the hoodie-turned-lifeline and he's ready.
One.
Let's go.]