rp | all the hurt that brought me here

[aworldonfire]

It's a miracle, he thinks, that he got away from Nobu, from Fisk. It's a miracle that he made it back to his apartment, as beaten as he is. It's a miracle, but singing the praises of God doesn't follow him much past the door, not because he doesn't want to but because, while he's still alive, still fighting, he's rapidly devolving into hysterical thought thanks to the blood loss, and what he's stricken by, standing in the doorway of the rooftop access, is that he remembers what red looks like, would swear he could see it.

It's in the taste of his own blood in his mouth, after all, the wash of pain in his stomach and chest that rushes over him whenever he draws breath, the smell of metal (not his own, not copper, so much blood, oh, God), clinging to his wounds, where he was stabbed again and again and again. It all permeates as much as Clint's cover's body spray did, the red, making it hard to think, hard to see beyond his absent sight, and he takes a drunken step forward, presses his fingers to the wall that runs alongside the steps that come down into his apartment, hoping it will help, praying for a touchstone. He makes it down a handful of stairs, something like wild optimism rising in his chest, alongside the pain (he can make it, if he can just make it to the phone, make it to Claire), before it all goes to hell.

His foot catches on something, something likely broken by him, by Stick, less than a handful of days ago, and he trips. He hits the remaining steps face-first, so fast it takes him a moment to register what just happened, to grunt, no more winded that he already was (is his lung punctured? he can't tell. it hurts. father forgive him -- both of them), and try to sit up. All he manages is to slide the rest of the way down the steps to the ground and for black to join the red, a memory of tunnel vision closing in on the edges of his mind's eye, as what little he can get from his other senses slips, stutters, unconsciousness creeping up on him. He doesn't try to get up again, after that, just lays there, panting. He doesn't even hear the door opening again above him, practically miles away.

He doesn't know how many minutes pass, him laying there, but eventually and what seems to him suddenly, something occurs to him. He shifts again, not trying to get up this time but to press his shaking fingers to the comm at his ear, always worn, just in case, but rarely used outside of his team ups with Clint and Natasha. It takes him three tries to actually get there, actually find his ear, and when he manages, it takes a moment more of false starts to fight past the black and find the breath for his words. It never occurs to him to think that the Avengers, if they're listening, already know what's going on, if only to a certain degree, that the comms are always transmitting, always receiving, that help may already be on the way.

"Little -- little help here?" he chokes out. "I need help. Please."

The red and black catch up to him, after that, as relentless as he's ever been in the same colors, and he slips into something like twilight.

Comments

[aworldonfire]

Matt hums, lapsing into a more serious silence; when he breaks it again, it's haltingly. He knows why Clint is here (dressed like that, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to guess that he and Natasha are planning on taking his usual patrol) and while he's not sure he approves, if he's not going to be leaving the house tonight, he can at least still make it work for him.

"If you're open to suggestions, I might have something that'll help with that."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Ooh." He sits forward a little bit. "We were just going to wander aimlessly for a while and make sure no one was out puppy kicking, but if you've got a direction, that'd be great."

[aworldonfire]

"A vague one," he says, looking almost apologetic. Still, it's better than nothing, right? It's forward motion or at least an attempt at it.

"I've been trying to track down the source of Fisk's heroin trade," he continues, that in mind. "From what I've put together, it's somewhere on 10th, but that's a little vague, for my tastes." A beat. "If you and Natasha could narrow it down for me, it'll make it easier to shut down once Banner lifts the bed rest order."

[thehawkinhisnest]

Anything more specific than "somewhere in Hell's Kitchen" is helpful, yes, and he tilts his head a little as Matt talks.

"I'm guessing you don't know if we should start farther north or south." He figures Matt would have mentioned that, if he had. "But yeah, we can stick our noses into some warehouses, see if anything turns up."

[aworldonfire]

"If I had to take a guess?" He tilts his head to one side and then the other, thoughtfully. "I'd say further north. I think the Russians were helping with distribution." And that's where most of their holdings were, before they went up in flames.

Other than that, though, he shrugs. Yeah, he has no idea.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint nods. "We'll see what we can turn up and at least mark some blocks off the list for you." He's not really expecting that him and Natasha will manage to stumble in on the bulk of the operation, considering how many warehouses and how much of 10th in general there is to search, but they can at least save Matt some legwork.

[aworldonfire]

"Anything you can do to narrow it down will help," Matt says by way of agreement and with a nod. A moment of pause follows, thoughtful, and then he continues, "And if you do manage to find them ... "

He trails off if only because he's not sure what he wants Clint and Natasha to do, in that case. On one hand, he'd really like to be able to handle it on his own, for any number of reasons. On the other, though, he's not really sure he wants that operation to keep going if there's a chance to shut it down, even if it'll probably only be for another few nights. Either way, he makes a face, all that in mind.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"If we find anything," Clint says into Matt's pause, "I'll give you a call."

Assuming Matt doesn't just put his comm in to listen in - he wouldn't honestly be surprised either way.

He doesn't want to take it away from Matt either if they can help it, considering he knows what's it like to deal with his problems himself, but he's also pretty sure leaving it open if they track it down would be the worse option.

[aworldonfire]

"Or I could throw on my comm," Matt suggests, apparently having the same thought. "Less hoping I actually answer the phone, if you do find something." Not to mention the fact that the comms picked up more. They could be quieter over them, as to not draw attention to themselves, than they could with a phone and still be heard.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"You a mind reader, now?" he shoots back with a grin. "That'll work. You can be with us in a little more than spirit, that way."

He's not even touching that second comment, considering he's pretty sure Matt would sit and stare at his phone waiting for it to ring if he didn't go with the comm.

[aworldonfire]

"I'd probably make a hell of a mentalist," Matt answers, shrugging. No, he's not a mind reader, but he can usually guess what someone's going to say and when, based on a number of things. More importantly, he knows Clint and knows himself. Is anyone really surprised that one of them would suggest he put the comm on, just so he doesn't end up spending the next few hours waiting by the phone? (And he would have.)

"But yeah, alright," he continues, shifting to get up. He'll just go get it now, even if he doesn't put it on until after Clint's out the door.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint chuckles - and no, he's not really surprised - stretching out a little as Matt gets up. "That'd be a good act. And has been a good act," he adds after a beat. "The whole 'blind seer' thing."

He knew a couple, back when he was actively a carny.

[aworldonfire]

"Remind me to run away and join the circus, after this is all over," Matt calls over his shoulder as he heads for the closet he'd directed Clint to, earlier. He pulls it open, the box inside, again, too, and fishes out his comm. Once he's put everything back, he returns to his place on the couch, rolling the small piece of tech between his fingers, idly, once he's resettled.

"Maybe I could convince Foggy to come along." A beat. "I feel like he'd make a good barker."

[thehawkinhisnest]

That gets a louder laugh from Clint. "I'm pretty sure Foggy could sell ice to an eskimo if he put his mind to it."

Seriously, the two of them are going to be formidable as hell when their firm gets its feet under them. Clint's dealt with a lot of legal types, and Matt and Foggy both outrank so many of them.

[aworldonfire]

"Know any Eskimos?" Matt asks after a pause that's largely for effect. He doesn't doubt that Clint's right, doesn't doubt Foggy, but that doesn't mean he still wouldn't like to see it.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint snorts. "If I meet any, I'll introduce you and set up a camera to record the pitch," he promises. Because yes, he would like to see that, too.

[aworldonfire]

"Sounds good," Matt answers with a nod. Another pause follows, this one less theatrical, more genuine, that much made clear by the way he sobers slowly, and then he continues, "But anyway, uh ... "

He doesn't want to keep Clint bullshitting all night, if he wants to get this show on the road.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Yeah, I should go start tracking down these assholes before Natasha gets to them first." He starts to get to his feet. "Because she will, if I don't."

He's not joking.

[aworldonfire]

He hums in response, not doubting him, and presses his comm into his ear. When it feels settled, and it always takes him a moment, regardless of how good Stark's tech really is, and for both their benefits (he figures Natasha has hers in, too), he says, "Just remember the whole no killing thing, if you do find them."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Somewhat foggier on the subject of kneecaps, we remember," he promises, heading for the stairs back to the roof, though he pauses long enough to add, "We'll keep you in the loop." before he actually heads up the stairs.

[aworldonfire]

"Just checking," Matt shoots back, something vaguely apologetic in his tone. Not that he addresses it beyond that. Instead, he just lets Clint go, flipping him a wave over his shoulder without looking back and regardless of whether or not he'll actually catch it.