#too many cops are more than happy to turn a blind eye when queer and trans people are being murdered

[awkward-teabag]

Not know the history behind it, how the very similar trans panic defense is used as an excuse to murder trans folks in multiple countries to this day, or that federally the US still has it on the books (bill S.2279 is still in the introductory phase; it has been introduced multiple times and every time failed) and various states still allow it.

If you are American, if you live in a grey or blue state you can be murdered with your killer claiming "gay panic" as a defense.

If you don't see the issue with it and/or are trying to reclaim it, just know a lot of us grew up with it being very negative, homophobic, and possibly lost friends or family where the murderer claimed, and got a reduced charge or the charge as dismissed, because "gay panic" was used.

And that doesn't even touch on trans panic and hearing a list of folks who were murdered over it every Trans Day of Visibility.

It should also be noted "gay panic" is still a legal defense in Canada. Odds of it being successful are slim (at least right now) but it is still something people can claim not as a denial but to get a lesser conviction. Some judges ban it but, nationally, it still exists and its permissibility is decided by individual judges.

Seeing tumblr users tag their blorboposts with "gay panic" is making me insane. This term does not mean what you all think it means.

[spaceskam]

What If I Can't Forget You?

for day 4 of @isobelevansappreciation : AU

Summary: After being kicked out a decade prior, Isobel comes home to find her brother has married her ex-girlfriend.

Warning: homophobia, mild sexual content

ao3

The last time Isobel Evans had been in Roswell, she’d been told not to ever come back.

When her mother had adopted her and promised to love her no matter what, it was apparently written in the fine print to be meaningless if she turned out queer. No matter how hard Isobel tried to keep her desires to herself, it became impossible when Liz Ortecho had smiled her way. Anne Evans had managed to blind herself from her daughter’s tastes up until she caught them in a compromising position. Isobel did what she was told and fled. The only people from home that she kept in touch with were Michael and his boyfriend who had both left town for the same reason.

That is until she got a call telling her that her mother had died.

Maybe it was foolish of her to show up, but her mind didn’t even consider that as she bought a plane ticket and boarded in the same couple hours. Then she found herself in front of her childhood home. After a few breaths to subside her fear, she knocked on the door.

“Isobel,” Max, her brother, said, shock on his face. She took a shaky breath and smiled. She’d missed him more than anything even if he had willingly gone along with their mother’s choice to disown her.

“Did you miss me? She asked, opening her arms. He instantly went into them. He lifted her off her feet and made her feel young, like they hadn’t been barely 18 when they last spoke. It was the first time she’d felt welcome when she thought of this place in a long time.

It didn’t last, though, and the moment they walked inside and waded through the large group of judgey women mourning her mother, she felt like she was right back to being a spectacle. Right back to wondering if this was a bad idea.

Max pulled her through everyone, though, and into the kitchen. It was relatively empty outside of the counters full casseroles and other dishes that they’d made to keep him fed while he mourned his mother. She smiled. At least they still liked him.

“So, how have you been?” Isobel asked, watching as he went to wash his hands in the sink.

“Uh,” he breathed, “Fine, I guess? I’m a cop now.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah,” Max said, huffing a little laugh, “That’s what my wife said.”

That caught Isobel’s attention and she perked up, stepping closer. She hadn’t been told Max was getting married. Sure, she tried to Facebook stalk him, but his profile was private and the only thing on display was his profile picture that was the New Mexico Lobos’ logo. It was impossible.

“Wife?” she echoed, tilting her head in intrigue, “You got married? To who? Do I know her?”

Max didn’t answer right away, drying his hands on his slacks before turning to the sea of dishes and picking one to heat up in the oven at random. He seemed a little frazzled and Isobel cursed herself for a moment for forgetting that he was probably upset about their mother. She, on the other hand, had mourned her mother years before. First a decade ago when she kicked her out, and second five years ago when she realized she really never wanted to see her again. When she found out she’d died, that she’d been sick and didn’t call to make amends, Isobel could only be a little sad.

Anne Evans had made her bed. Now she got to lie in it.

“Is she that bad?” Isobel said, deciding to lighten the mood by making it sound less like she was prodding, “What, did you marry Maria DeLuca and ruin my chances of winning that bet I made with Michael that he would marry her?”

“No,” Max said curtly. She watched him, tall and broad and saw that he was a grown man now. A grown man who was sad and overwhelmed because his mother died. Genuinely sad. 

As if on a cue Isobel didn’t realize, Liz Ortecho walked into the kitchen.

Isobel made eye contact with her and tried to ignore the way she still took her breath away. Her hair was long and braided down her back, falling over her long sleeved black shirt and dark wash jeans and scuffed up black boots. She looked the same and so different and Isobel smiled. Liz didn’t hold eye contact for long.

“Liz,” Isobel said, watching as she brought the empty pitcher of tea towards the stove and quickly turned the burner on to make more. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it has been a long time,” Liz agreed, barely sparing her a look. It burned, but what could she expect? It’d been so long. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Isobel admitted with a soft laugh, “I guess I couldn’t keep away.” Neither Liz nor Max said a word as they shared a look with each other. The look held a conversation between them and Isobel felt left out. “So, I was just bothering him about who he married. Do you know who it is? Do we approve of what girl stole my brother’s innocence?”

“I think we approve, yes,” Liz said softly, heading to the proper cabinet to pull out tea bags. She seemed too familiar with the kitchen. Isobel watched her.

“Well, what have you been up to?” Isobel prodded. There was such a distinct feeling in the air and she was about five seconds from fleeing again. Michael and Alex had promised they’d be staying close by if she needed a getaway car. Maybe she would take them up on that. “Did you ever get out of Roswell? I know you had big dreams and a ton of potential. Did you ever go to California or New York or wherever that fancy school was? Have you, uh, made any big scientific discoveries yet?”

“I haven’t,” Liz answered flatly.

Isobel just looked around the room, at her brother and at the woman she’d once imagined she would be spending her life with. Things were tense and awkward and Isobel felt like she really wasn’t wanted. Perhaps a decade of space wasn’t long enough. Maybe they were simply upholding her mother’s wishes, that she would leave and stay gone. Isobel shifted uncomfortably.

“Okay,” Isobel said, trying to find words to continue the conversation, but failing, “Um…”

“Where are you staying tonight?” Max asked her. Isobel could’ve kissed him for saving the conversation. She had so much to say to him, so much to hear, and yet it seemed impossible.

“Probably that motel in town,” Isobel answered.

“She could stay here with us,” Liz offered. And Isobel froze.

“That’s what I was thinking. Do you think your dad would be okay with us borrowing that air mattress?” Max asked, speaking much more comfortably than he had been before.

“Of course he would be,” Liz said, smiling softly at him before she went back to the tea.

“You’re married?” Isobel asked, feeling a little more than incredulous. In fact, she felt like she was suffocating. “To each other? And you live here?”

“Yes,” Max answered like it was a weight off his shoulder, “Yes, we are. We do.”

Isobel looked at Liz and then at her brother and then images in her mind of what Liz looked like when they were celebrating her 18th birthday flooded her mind. Too many images of her smile and her skin and the way she tasted when she was covered in stolen champagne and the way she sounded when Isobel touched her just where she wanted. And then those memories were replaced with the same thing, only Max was there instead and Isobel felt sick.

What was even more sick was that Max knew who Liz was to her. Everyone did. Rumors spread fast when Anne Evans’ beloved princess gets disowned.

“Wow,” Isobel said, taking a deep breath and swallowing down the bile that burned in her throat, “Wow.”

“I thought about inviting you to the wedding,” Liz offered, avoiding eye contact because she knew how much this information stung, “I couldn’t find out where you were living. That nomadic lifestyle of yours, you know.”

“I’d hardly call fending for myself when I was a kid after my mother kicked me out for no reason being nomadic,” Isobel said, tone icier than she anticipated.

“Isobel,” Max said, glaring at her. Isobel was trapped by his stare, trapping by this information, the walls closing around her. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she came home, but this was certainly not it.

“Right, right, can’t speak ill of the dead,” she laughed dryly, looking around and avoiding their eyes, “Right. I’m happy for you. I’m going to go find my room.”

Neither of them stopped her as she headed for the stairs and quickly scaled them. It was a relatively big house. Their parent’s room was downstairs while Max, Isobel, and the guest room were all upstairs. The hall looked the same except all the pictures that were once of her had been replaced with more of Max as she made her way towards her bedroom and gently grabbed the doorknob before twisting.

Her bedroom had been her one safe haven. Every time she got scared or upset, she’d go there and her mother respected that space as hers. It was the room she had multiple panic attacks inside as she slowly discovered she liked women, completely unaware Michael was having the same bi-panic not far away at the same time. It was the room she cried in when she got stood up on her first date. It was the room she’d lined with stuffed animals that she’d hid her weed inside. It was the room where she discovered what Liz Ortecho tasted like.

Isobel didn’t know what to expect to find when she entered it again after a decade of being gone, but when she faced a completely empty room, she knew it wasn’t that. Maybe part of her had wished her mother kept it just in case she came home. Maybe if she had, Isobel would remember what it felt like, for a moment, what it was to have her mother’s unconditional love. Because that’s what unconditional love was, right? Always giving them a place to go? Her mother had taken that too.

The walls were bare, the closet was empty, any trace of her pink-painted walls or her collage of pictures with Max and Michael was gone entirely. The only tell that someone had ever lived in that room was the scuff mark on the floor from when she rearranged her room in the middle of the night to cope with her panicking.

Isobel slowly sat on the floor, trying to keep herself composed as it really set in how much she shouldn’t have come here. It was like being 18 again, like being kicked out again, like being angry and hurt and unlovable and unwanted and hated all over again. She shouldn’t have come here.

Just as she was fiddling with her pockets to find her phone so she could call Michael to come get her before she broke entirely, someone knocked on the door.

Isobel sniffled and wiped over her face to try and act like she hadn’t been about to cry as it creaked open and Liz poked her head inside. This time, Isobel noticed how pale she looked and how her typical bold personality seemed overly dulled. This wasn’t the Liz she had spent hours planning a future with.

But then again, she never imagined Liz would marry Max either.

“Are you alright?” Liz asked, coming in and pausing before she slowly closed the door behind her.

“I guess so,” Isobel said, forcing a laugh. Liz nodded and still stayed firmly with her back against the door. Isobel remembered a night where they’d laid in bed, whispering quietly about everything they’d felt. How Isobel had liked boys and girls and it didn’t make sense, how Liz had tried to like boys and only found she wasn’t interested. Liz was a lesbian. Or, she was. People changed, she presumed.

“I’m sorry about your room,” she said and Isobel rolled her eyes, “When your mother went to burn everything, I suggested that maybe she should keep it for when you came home, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“She burned it?” Isobel asked, a laugh escaping her despite it not at all being funny. She really just burned Isobel’s memory away. Or she tried. “God, she was such a bitch.” Liz didn’t answer right away. “Sorry, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“No, you’re right, she was a bitch,” Liz agreed. Isobel offered a tired smile. “I managed to steal a couple things before she noticed, though. They’re back at the Crashdown if you wanted to come by.” 

A few seconds of silence passed as she listened to Liz’s invitation. Her invitations had always been something Isobel looked forward to. Now, she wasn’t allowed to.

“I can’t believe you married my brother,” Isobel scoffed, picking at the carpet. Liz huffed a small laugh.

“Yes, well, me neither.”

A few hours passed before the house eventually cleared and Isobel found herself walking the streets of Roswell beside Liz Ortecho so they could get to her father’s restaurant. It was weird as hell, but Isobel had had hours to readjust. And to vent to Michael and Alex via their group chat, but no one needed to know about that.

The sun was setting and Liz kept space between them like she was scared to accidentally bump shoulders with her like they had when they were young and walked places together. They couldn’t hold hands, but they could accidentally run into each other every few steps. They’d been so childish, so young. She missed that.

“So, aside from my brother, what have you been up to?” Isobel asked, “You had such big dreams. I can’t imagine you staying here in Roswell or, honestly, marrying a man.”

“I didn’t expect to be still here either,” Liz admitted, ignoring the second statement, “But things just got away from me. My dad needed me to stay to help with Rosa and then, by the time she was clean, I was already engaged to Max. Then I couldn’t leave.”

“You’re so smart, though,” Isobel scoffed, “You should go back to school now.”

“I don’t know if that’s an option.”

“It’s always an option,” Isobel insisted, “You were brilliant, Liz. You could do so much. Seriously, think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They walked into the Crashdown as it came into sight and Arturo, Liz’s dad, was the first person all night to be excited to see Isobel. He’d smiled and said something about how he couldn’t believe his eyes in Spanish, hugging her tight. Isobel hugged him back and tears sprung to her eyes. She was more than thankful for him.

“I’ve been keeping up with you, you know,” Arturo said, nodding, “All that designing stuff you do. I don’t really understand all of it, but I’ve seen all those fancy celebrities you’ve dressed. You really made something of yourself, Isobel. I’m so proud of you.”

“Alright, Papi, we’re gonna go get that air mattress, okay?” Liz said, brushing it off with a laugh. Isobel almost told her she would just stay with Arturo all night. But that wasn’t an option as they climbed the narrow stairs.

And then they were in Liz’s room.

“Wow,” Isobel said, “Yours looks exactly the same.”

“Yeah, well,” Liz breathed, watching her closely as she closed the door behind them. And then it was just them again. Isobel smiled softly before dropping onto the bed, giving Liz a playful come hither look. Liz just shook her head. “I never thought I was going to see you again.”

“I had no plans to come back,” Isobel admitted, “Things happen. Like my mother dying and you marrying my brother.”     

"You don't understand."

"Then can you explain it to me? Because I cannot understand how you married a man," Isobel said, looking up at her. Liz had been so headstrong, had been there to say it doesn't matter, that it's not a bad thing. And Liz was the one to go back on that.

"I haven't come out to my dad," she said softly, "And I was scared."

"Don't you think he knows? News travels fast," Isobel pointed out.

"He doesn't listen to gossip. If he knew, he wouldn't have let me marry Max," she said simply. Isobel huffed a laugh and shook her head. "I was hanging out with him a little more after you left. We both missed you."

"I didn't leave, I was thrown out," Isobel reminded her. Liz took a deep breath and pushed off the door to take a step closer.

"Your mom pulled me aside one day and told me I should marry him. That he liked me, that it was a good idea," Liz explained. Isobel got that sick feeling again.

"Oh my God." 

"And when I talked to Father Santiago, he told me I should too," Liz added, "So I did."

"Oh my God," Isobel said, more disgust than the first time, "So, what, you just played it straight? This whole time?"

"Yeah," Liz sighed, slowly sitting beside her. Closer than they had been outside. "I didn't have a choice."

"So you were never with another woman?" Isobel prodded. Liz gave a sad little smile and looked up at the ceiling.

"No."

"Jesus, Liz," Isobel said, shaking her head, "How are you even okay?" 

"It's not so bad," Liz said softly, "Max is nice. Respectful. Doesn't force me into anything I don't want." 

"Oh my God."

"You're overreacting," Liz sighed, "We're fine."

"How are you fine? You're in a marriage with someone you aren't attracted to and he loves you in a way you can never love him. I mean, I want to feel bad for him, but he swooped in and married you all while knowing what you were to me," Isobel scoffed, shaking her head, "So unhealthy."

"What was I to you, exactly?" Liz asked softly. Isobel looked over at her and blew air out of her nose, unable to ignore how gorgeous she was up close. She was always so pretty.

Instead of answering, Isobel reached for her braid, pulling it over her shoulder and rolling the elastic off before unraveling it. Her hair hung to her waist in loose waves, falling into her face and reminding Isobel of some of the many times they found themselves alone in this room. Fifteen and stupid and "practicing" kissing so they'd know what to do. Sixteen and drunk on wine coolers they stole from Isobel's mom and kissing each other with full intent and making it known that it wasn't just practice for the first time. Seventeen and reckless and so desperate to get their hands on each other that they fell off the bed. Eighteen and cuddling and whispering about what the future held. How the hell had it turned into this?

"I missed you so goddamn much," Isobel admitted, tucking a strand of Liz's hair behind her ear, "I kept googling your name and waiting for some scientific article you wrote to pop up. It never happened."

"I want to."

"Do it," Isobel said, cupping her chin gently, "You are brilliant. Do it."

Liz stared at her, eyes filling with tears and Isobel wondered how long it'd been since someone told her that. Or, maybe, when was the last time her father told her that before he realized it did more harm than good to make her feel bad about her choices? 

It happened quickly after that, Liz leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. It was hesitant and hardly a kiss at all, just lips touching as if she wasn't sure she was allowed to or if she didn't remember how. Isobel hesitated too, trying to weigh the pros and cons of missing his brother's wife. But, then again, he'd known she and Isobel had been together before he decided to marry her. So, truly, it was his fault for being stupid. 

Isobel parted her lips and slid her hand to the back of Liz's neck, holding her in place as she pushed her tongue into her mouth. Liz reacted like she hadn't been touched in a decade, whining softly as she came in close. Isobel's heart was beating in her ears as she relearned the taste of her lips, her other hand resting on Liz's knee before slowly, slowly sliding her fingers between them.

Liz took a shaky breath as Isobel's hand gradually moved up between her thighs, slow and careful as she edged closer and closer. It wasn't until her fingers traced down the zipper of her jeans that Liz grabbed her wrist.

"Sorry," Isobel said, reluctantly pulling away, "I'm sorry."

Liz stared at her for a moment, debating and unmoving. Isobel waited for her cue, waited to follow her lead. She always had.

"I called Michael to get him to tell you about your," Liz admitted, voice soft and hesitant, "I wanted you to come home. I needed you to come home."

Isobel looked at her, at the dark need in her eyes and how that need was for much more than Isobel's touch. She just needed Isobel. In her entirety. And suddenly she remembered what it was like to feel loved again.

"I'm home," Isobel stated simply. Liz took a breath and relaxed, guiding Isobel's hand to press against the seam of her jeans that was the barrier between them as if all she needed was that little phrase to get her to open up.

So Isobel laid her back on the bed and slipped her fingers past the waistband of her jeans, easily reminding them both how good it was to be with each other and no one else.

And Isobel fully intended to make sure Liz got all the good things she should've gotten a decade prior.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Through the Lonely Throng

It’s impossible to sleep at night with so much noise.

The woods in Hawkins are filled with it, and from his window in the white house at 5280 Cherry Lane, Billy Hargrove can hear every last screeching katydid and snapping branch and the leaves rustling so loud when the wind blew.

Things were so much different back home in San Francisco, where the sounds of the night were distant and more like white noise. Then he could hear distant cars, their tires smooth on pavement, and the sounds of the ocean if he listened hard enough. He missed that more than anything.

Indiana was so much more, suffocating. The noise overwhelmed him in a way the bustling city life of Cali never had, and he knew that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it did to him, in a city that was actually made up of more than middle of nowhere neighborhoods and a few corner stores, he had his room to breathe. There was freedom in having somewhere to hide.

There used to be places to go when he couldn’t stand to be alone or when he needed to be, there was always an escape. He supposed that was why they moved here, so his father could keep better tabs on him, so he wouldn’t have the liberty he did in a developed city.

Now in Hawkins, he was just stuck, all the time, nowhere to go but back home again. Every single day was the same old thing without anything to do, and it was wearing down on him. He missed the life he used to have, missed his friends and the distractions and his fucking mom. Indiana was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Everytime Billy thought there might be a silver lining, anything at all to look forward to, his hopes were shattered again like glass when you dropped it, only he never seemed to hit the ground. Constantly in a downward spiral since he’d stepped foot in this shithole town, his life had gotten so far out of his own control.

He’d already done so many things he regretted, but the thing was, he felt like he’d been watching from the backseat as it happened. The isolation and torment of the new way he’d been forced to live was breaking him down piece by piece, and everyday he became more and more like his dear old dad.

Staring out the window by his bed, a plume of smoke drifting up towards the twinkling stars from a cigarette between his fingers, he felt so, so uneasy. With himself, for all that he’d done, and the people he’d hurt, with his father, for uprooting him and putting him in this tiny box, deliberately bringing out the nastiest parts of his temper, and fucking Hawkins, for keeping him cornered and taking away everything he ever held dear.

The tears on his cheeks weren’t a surprise, he’d always been a stupidly emotional person, no matter how tough he tried to be. His momma told him that meant he was strong, that any boy who wasn’t afraid to show his emotions was very brave. Look where that got him.

Speaking of his momma, she’d been on his mind a lot lately. The idea that, had she not just drove off without him he wouldn’t be here now, it haunted him. He could’ve been happy, if she’d chosen him, chosen her baby over a life of freedom. She’d said once over the phone that she’d come back when he was older, that you couldn’t run fast enough with an eight year old, but that she wouldn’t forget him.

There’s a few months left until his eighteenth birthday, and he hasn’t heard a word from her since.

So much for dreams of a dramatic rescue, for the hope that his mom would come back for him and swoop him away from the arms of his abuser. Tough shit, kid.

Even if she had stayed, he knows in his heart things wouldn’t be any different. Except for maybe that Neil probably would’ve murdered the both of them by now if complacent little Susan hadn’t come along. Maria Hargrove was a fighter. Susan Mayfield took whatever was coming without complaint. Funny how he hated them both anyways.

Sometimes he thinks about how they’re victims too, how not everything that happens is their fault, but then he remembers the look on his mother’s face as she walked out the front door for the last time, or the way Susan would ignore him when he was injured, going about her day, picking up dishes and folding laundry while he lay on the floor with boot shaped bruises up and down his body. Of his mother’s tone of voice when she picked up the phone after she abandoned her son, or the way Susan would inform on what he’d been doing no matter the consequence just to stay in good graces with her husband.

Like hell did those women deserve it, but did he either?

Was it fair that, since he was just eight years old, he’d been being beaten and battered and abused in every way by anyone and everyone who got close to him? Did the fact that Maria got hit a few times make it okay to subject her son to the daily torture he faces just for existing? Does Susan’s fear excuse turning a blind eye to what she knows her husband does behind closed doors?

But does his own hurt make it okay to bully his step-sister and her friends? No, it doesn’t.

His excuse is that he’s scared.

Scared for Susan, as much as he hates to admit it, that one day Neil will get bored of beating him up and move on to his dainty little wife. Woman like her wouldn’t be able to take his punches, and if she couldn’t stand up for her step son, she definitely wouldn’t stand up for herself.

He’s scared for his friend Tommy, because he’s been seen spending too much time around him, and his dad is getting suspicious. Thinks that just because they hang around each other there must be something going on. Whether it was just regular teenagers up to no good or an accusation of queer shit, either would set his father off, and Tommy would be the target if they didn’t distance themselves a little.

And he’s scared for the Sinclair kid, because Neil has made it very clear that nothing good will come of Max hanging out with him. Billy’s kind of caught in the middle on that one, he doesn’t want Max to think he's the dickhead when his dad is, but he wants her to just keep her distance, be a little more cautious so something bad won’t happen.

Back in California, he’d had a black friend in kindergarten, and as soon as he found out, Neil called the school and had his classes switched just because they’d been too young to get a beating for it. Lucas was fourteen, and if eight was old enough for his own flesh and blood, then that was good enough for Neil to lash out. But they were just rebellious teenagers with no concept of real world consequences, and they were going to get themselves killed.

More than anything, he was scared for Max. He can tell she doesn’t really know what’s happening around her. Susan does her very best to shield her daughter from Neils rage, and that means not telling her about it at all or letting her see it. On Neil’s bad days, Max would still come home talking a mile a minute, pushing him over the edge to a violent fit that his son would have to face, and she’d be none the wiser.

At first, it’d pissed Billy off that she could go home free so often, but by now the fact that she was completely blind to it scared him that one day, she’d be next. Just a few weeks ago he’d had to step into the middle of an argument between his father and step-sister, and got a split in his eyebrow so bad it still hadn’t healed. It was only a matter of time before he didn’t catch it in enough time, and Max’s little safety bubble would pop forever.

But doing his best to keep all of them safe meant doing his worst, and he hated it. What choice did he have when he had to keep Max and Lucas separated and the target on Susan’s back small? How could he do that other than to be strong and mean and just like Neil?

Because, if he had a mean streak himself, that’d threaten his big bad dad, and he’d get his ass beat. Coming home wasted and making a scene, he’d get his ass beat. A call from the school or a concerned parent about that rowdy boy down on Cherry, and he’d get his ass beat. Wash rinse repeat.

Be the worst Billy he could be, and Neil would take it out on him, not on Max who holds hands with black boys, or Tommy who doesn’t even know his best friend’s a queer and just wants to have a friend, or Susan who didn’t know what she was signing up for when she said I do.

Still, making that choice, deciding to take the worst of his father's rage for everyone else and still not seeing an ounce of empathy or concern thrown his way put a bitter taste in his mouth. At this point it was like, why even bother keeping up the sacrifice? Nobody appreciates all the pain he goes through to protect them, why not just be good?

Because it wasn’t just for them.

If Neil knew his son wasn’t manly and brave and cocky and cool like everyone thought he was, Billy was sure he’d already be six feet under. The act had saved his ass on more than one occasion, when tears fell from his eyes and accusations of being a dainty fairy started to fly, the leather jackets and the metalhead music and the fucking cologne on his balls kept Neil from going too far. It was a counterbalance sort of thing, because he could think of nothing else that would stop his dad from lashing out at everyone around him.

He knows how he acts is wrong, but he doesn’t know what else to do, what else could stop Neil. Unless somebody would just grow a pair and put Neils sorry ass in prison, then things wouldn’t have to be this way.

But it was that way, the cops didn’t believe Billy when he was 10 and innocent, let alone now that he’s just some washed up trouble maker, and Neil kept up a pristine reputation among the communities they lived in, so nothing was done about it.

Everyday the line between who he actually was and who he needed to be to survive and to protect those around him from that monster got blurrier and blurrier.

So here he was, listening to the dumb katydids in the trees keeping him awake, chain smoking and reflecting on his choices, some of the most recent and very poor ones sticking out in his mind's eye.

On Halloween, he’d almost killed a bunch of kids just to scare Max. Every night he thought about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been quick enough pulling the wheel. Getting beat up by your daddy doesn’t excuse that, even if in his head he was just trying to teach Max a lesson.

Then he’d broken her skateboard for talking to Lucas behind his back. That had actually been an accident, but he was still threatening to do it when it broke and he was still screaming at her. For trying to protect her from Neil, he sure did treat her just the same way his father did him.

The icing on the cake was that the same night, he’d lost his cool and totally scared the hell out of everyone. Max is pissed about the skateboard and sneaks out of her room in the middle of the night, he doesn’t notice because she’s like 13, she doesn’t need a babysitter, Neil and Susan find out before he does, and there’s bruises on his back and a sore spot on his cheek and he can’t find the little twerp for the life of him. All her friends' parents have a different answer for where the kids are, and when he finally finds them they’re under the supervision of a random teenager unrelated to any of them in a strangers house.

Now, when they moved here, Susan had been concerned about the area, she’d heard trafficking was bad in the Midwest compared to their sunny California, but Neil had told her it’d be fine. As Billy pushed his way into that house that night, he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t. One of the kids that was supposed to be there was missing, the one who’s house they were in, is just, gone, and he can only think the worst. His thirteen year old sister is being prostituted or some shit and he’s kind of freaking out, and he turns it around on Lucas.

Lucas, who hadn’t done anything wrong but be a kid, but who had been warned about hanging out with Max, and had now gotten her involved in some kiddie porn thing, and Neil was going to kill him and he’s fucking terrified. Then he’s in a fucking fist fight with Steve Harrington, who he’d thought was just the somewhat dopey leader of the basketball team, but was apparently leading whatever the fuck this operation is and lying to him about it.

He wins the fight and he almost kills Steve, thinks he has every reason to if his suspicions are correct, but Max picks up some random syringe, which, again, he’s convinced would only be necessary if they were drugging and selling out these kids, and fucking stabs him with it. He doesn’t remember anything else, but he knows Max has gotten a lot cockier around him and the other kids hated him like, a thousand times more.

There’s still the creeping feeling in the back of his mind that there’s something else going on, but he didn’t want to be like that again. He’d already known he’d crossed the line to being too much like Neil, but that night had really cemented it in his head, and he regretted all of it. A thousand different things could’ve played out, and he’s pretty sure that because of him, the worst of all possible scenarios had occurred, and he wished he could go back.

But he couldn’t, so he tried to apologize, but Max wouldn’t hear it. He’d been halfway through saying he was sorry when she’d opened the car door and stomped away, slamming it shut in his face. That was fair, he deserved that, but he wished so desperately that there was something he could do.

He guessed his problem was just, keeping doing what he knew was wrong until it was too late, and then not knowing how to like, change from that. Just apologizing meant nothing at this point and he knew it, but he hadn’t meant for this to go on for so long. Which also meant he sure as hell didn’t know how to fix it.

It made him feel hopeless, being caught between so many different expectations, especially when he realized that he had set most of them for himself. He was a monster of his own making, and he would have to own up to that before anyone would forgive him.

——

Things never really work out for Billy.

The instant things start to look better, Neil would do something that set his son back to the start of it, and he’d screw things up with Max and her friends all over again like clockwork.

It felt like he would always be trapped alone with the quaintness of Indiana, locked up in the confines of his bedroom, unable to break the cycle of abuse.

He never expects that statement to be as true as it is.

Glass shatters, he panics, tires squeal, he loses control, broken ribs, he can’t breathe. In and out, he can’t remember, chemical burns, his face and his throat and his chest burn like fire, fades to black, what did he do? It hurts, he’s sorry, burning heat, he didn't do it, it hurts. Gun fire, he floors it, fireworks, he wants it to end, seven feet, he was happy, blood on the tiles, he’s not gonna make it.

Billy Hargrove dies on the Fourth of July, 1985.

He doesn’t get the chance to move on, doesn’t get to prove his father wrong, or ever have the chance to live his own life.

There’s no turn around in his young life to get back on the right path and leave behind his trauma, to be better than what his abuser did to him. He’ll never see his mom, or his home or his sister ever again.

He doesn’t have the chance to make it up to Lucas or Susan or Steve or Tommy or Max. Or to escape the mindset he’d been raised into so he could be free and safe and happy again.

Billy’s last words are an apology to his sister. He chokes on his own blood, or maybe not his own, he’s not sure, and he goes out of this world at only 18 years old, a monster of his own making.

[powertobehandsome]

The Way I See It || Matt and Seth

Part one of many. I love this game; everything is so happy in the beginning. || @blindlyburning 

“I think I chipped a tooth,” Seth looked at the weary and battered Ryan to his left as Ryan leaned against the filthy jail cell wall. The party, whatever party they’d been dragged to, had ended roughly four hours ago, and they were both on the steep decline intoxication. And this night? Sobriety was more of a bitch than that asshole’s girlfriend. Or had it been his sister? Seth couldn’t remember now. All he knew was as he ran his tongue along the upper teeth on the right side of his face, one felt a little more jagged than he ever remembered it being.

“Excuse me, sir? Look, I’m sure you have more important guys to deal with. My father is a public defender. And I have a spotless record. So, if you’d be so kind as to just let us go home. I need to go to a dentist. I’m tired. And, honestly, this place smells a little too much like urine for me to be interested in lingering within this cage.”

As the police officer stalked forward, Seth couldn’t believe his luck. It was actually working.

“You, blondie, come with me.”

Ryan stood, frowning, and moved hesitantly toward the police officer.

“I’m tired of listening to your friend talk, so I’m separating you.”

“If you think being alone will get him to be quiet…” Ryan started, but was cut off soon after.

“You don’t understand who it is you two messed with. You’ll be here for a while. And we have all the charges to lock you up. Drunk and disorderly. Public intoxication. Assault. And your friend? Well, let’s just say assaulting a police officer is certainly not going to work in his favor. Now. Both of you need to just shut your mouths.”

“Excuse me!” Seth called out, his face resting between the bars before he realized how much that might be a bad idea. “Hi. But when do I get a phone call to a lawyer?”

"Kid, you got any idea where you are?" Another cop asked, walking up. "What do you think this is, California? Shut it."

“No. No, but listen. I at least know I have the right to an attorney. And sure, my dad isn’t here to come to my rescue and bail me out today, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pay.”

“Seth. Shut up,” Ryan called from his own cell, begging his brother to please, please stop talking before these cops thought he was trying to bribe them.

Seth moved back to the far wall, slid down until he sat roughly on the bench, and then in one movement, laid across the cold, unsterile metal. “I hate New York.”

It wasn't until about five in the morning that a couple of lawyers showed up. Both men were young and in unfortunately cheap suits, but they wore them well, without any shame. They talked with the cops for a while before coming down to the cells.

"Pretty sure these guys won't be able to pay," Foggy murmured, leading Matt down. "They never can."

"And one of the guys they got in a fight with has connections that can get them killed in here."

"You actually hate me, don't you?"

"Only sometimes." Matt smiled and shook his head.

"Okay. We're looking for uh. Ryan... Seacrest? Reynolds? Whatever. And Seth Cohen. Any takers?" Foggy looked around at the sleepy, irritable cell occupants on the hall, feeling a certain kinship.

 "Atwood," Ryan's called in a too unamused voice. "Seth, wake up. Our layers are here."

"Huh? Dad? That was a quick..." when his blurry vision cleared enough that he could see that these men definitely weren't his father, and he definitely wasn't in California, Seth groaned, cursing the headache gods. But this felt worse than typical hangovers. He hurt in his ribs. Every time he looked to the left, his head throbbed in that temple. And the memories of what had landed him in this cell were a blur.

"Yes, hello. I... I am Ryan At... no. He is Ryan Atwood. I'm Seth Cohen. How can we help you gentlemen?"

Ryan's face was buried in his palms, and he shook his head. "What he means is, can you at least get us out of here tonight?"

"You mean this morning?" Foggy asked, going over to Ryan's cell. "Probably. We're awesome like that. As long as you consent to hire us? By the way, anyone ever tell you that you look a heck of a lot like a really young Jim Gordon?"

As for Matt, he stepped closer to Seth's cell, expression turning to one of concern. "You okay, Seth?" He asked softly.

"Yeah. I haven't been in a fight since I first met him," he nodded in the direction of the other cell and then groaned at the movement. "And the cops in this city are dicks who have to hate their jobs. Can you get us out of here? The smell is making me nauseous."

Not that they had anywhere to go. They hadn't gotten a hotel. And the guys who'd kicked their asses had also been swell enough to loot their wallets while they were on the ground, throwing them back at them with nothing but their IDs and for Seth, a membership card to his local (i.e. his) comic book store. 

Ryan looked up at Foggy with a certain amount of distrust. "A young who?"

Seth rolled his eyes. "He's been told that. I've told him that. He refuses to even look up who I'm talking about."

"Right. So. Can you get us out? Will you? So we can find a hotel or something?"

"Just hang tight," Foggy said. "I'll go get someone." He wandered away to find a cop.

Meanwhile, Matt was still focused on Seth. "How badly are you hurt?" He asked. "And where are your injuries? You'll have to forgive me, I can't see them." Although he had his dark red sunglasses on, he didn't have his cane with him and knew that his blindness might not be abundantly clear.

Ryan nodded in response, never having been one for a lot of words. This was typical, but they'd get through this. Seth was pretty beat up, he'd taken the brunt of the abuse, the rest thinking it hilarious to hold Ryan off and make him watch, calling them "Cali Queers". Which. Whatever. They were. But they also weren't together anymore. So what did that matter?

"Wh-- oh. Oh. Yeah. It's really..." Seth sat up and suppressed a grunt. He didn't think any ribs were cracked. But there would be some definite bruising there. He lifted an arm over his head and made a face. Nope. One was definitely cracked. It must have been those last few kicks. "It's really nothing," he said on an exhale. He looked like shit. Cheekbone was cut, as well as the brow just at the end. His eye was trying to close from swelling. And his lip was busted. There was a deep bruise across his forearm. But that last one had been thanks to a cop and her baton. "So why are you helping us?"

"Because we're a fairly new firm with next to no clients is what Foggy would tell you -- and because you need help is what I'd say." Foggy came back with a cop then and they took the two men to a private room. Once there, they were left alone.

"Okay, we need to know what happened..." Foggy hesitated at glanced over at Matt. "But my partner wants to know about your injuries first, Mr. Cohen."

"Do you feel nauseated or dizzy?" Matt asked. "And can I have permission to touch your abdomen? I want to make sure you don't have any internal bleeding."

"Don't creep him out, Matt. But he has good hands, Seth. He's not a doctor or anything, but he's freaky accurate."

“That’s… a little much? Don’t you think? For an attorney? To be like… assessing my injuries? I told you I was okay.” Though even as he said it, he spoke like a man who had a fat lip.

“It’s no stranger than your dad bringing me home.”

“Please, Ryan. That was in California. This is New York. It’s a whole new ball game out here.”

“Sports reference? I’m kind of proud.”

“Yeah, well. Some part of you had to rub off on me over the years. And since I look terrible in a wife beater…”

“Seth, just let the man examine your injuries so we can get out of here and then go back home.”

“Fine. He can take a look.”

“SETH.”

“You know what I mean. Sorry. He can examine them.”

"In the meantime..." Foggy looked at Ryan. "Tell us what happened?"

Matt quietly and carefully started running his fingers over Seth's abdomen, seeking the signs of internal bleeding -- heat where there shouldn’t be any, bunching muscles, the feeling of something hard inside, like pebbles or rocks or even eggs. He'd have to check his head out after that, although heads were a little trickier.. either way, he thought, this kid might well need to go to the hospital. 

Seth winced as he was touched, but otherwise tried not to make a sound. The man’s fingers were chilly and though he was gentle, every little movement hurt, let alone any touch from prodding fingers. But at least he seemed to be conscious of the need to be careful. For the most part, it felt more like he was just brushing fingertips over his skin — touches which gave Seth a brief wash of goosebumps.

“There was a girl. And her boyfriend.”

“Dude, I think it was just her brother.”

“Okay, there was a guy and a girl. And Seth and I were both… pretty drunk. And Seth has a tendency of thinking he’s invincible when he’s drinking. He hit on the girl. The guy told her to back off. Seth tried to casually imply that the guy was a moron and that he needed to back off. The man took him by the shoulder. Seth tried to shove the hand off, then pushed when the guy got in his face. The girl egged it on. I tried to get between them. Three of his friends held me off while he and another kicked the shit out of Seth. Apparently the man was in well with the bartender, probably someone important, considering our luck, because the bartender called the cops on us. Which, of course Seth tried to argue with them. And then when he reached out for one of the cops, trying to be charming or something. I don’t know. She struck his arms with her baton. Right across the backs of his forearms. The other cop claimed he assaulted her, said we both were drunk and disorderly, public intoxication, which… is what happens when you go to a bar, I’ve never understood that charge. And somehow we got charged with assaulting both the woman and her… whoever he was. I don’t know. As we walked by, the guy spit on me, called us Cali Queers, and here we are. Sober. Miserable. And the cops had no interest in taking him in to be checked on.”

“Ryan, I’m fine. It’s just a black eye. Being your friend has given me plenty of those.”

Ryan looked at Foggy with a you-see-what-I-have-to-deal-with glance, rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Any chance we can just get out of here with a minimal fine to pay?”

"If there was a chance, it went out the window when he reached for a cop," Foggy sighed, and rubbed a hand against his face. He'd been warm and happy in bed not all that long ago, but then Matt just had to wake him up with this shit. "Not to mention, one of the guys is an enforcer for a guy named Ramirez. Real upstanding guy on the outside, pretty rotten mob boss on the inside. He's trying to be the new Fisk."

Matt made a quiet sound of derision, then smoothed Seth's shirt down and ran his fingertips even more gently over his skull. "Cop aside," he said, "it sounds more like you were victims than perpetrators." It wasn't their job to judge the way these two conducted themselves; just because they were entitled jackasses was no reason for them to be assaulted. "And you need to be checked over by a professional." He helped Seth sit down, then stepped away and folded his arms. "If we can get you released, they're probably not going to want to drop it right away. They'll want you to stay in the city. Are you prepared to do that?" 

"Matt, try being reassuring." Foggy shook his head and turned to them. "It'll be fine. As long as you guys are willing to cooperate, Nelson and Murdock will have your backs. Right, Matt? This is the part where you agree with me and reassure the clients."

Matt nodded once.

Seth shrugged. “We can stay, sure. And I wasn’t trying to… I wasn’t…” His shoulders slumped, and he stayed standing. One of the kicks had landed to the back of his thigh and the pressure of sitting was uncomfortable. Head dropped, Seth moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, remembered why that was a bad idea, and just sighed. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just going to reach out to touch her shoulder or something. Try to reason with her, to give her the full story. It’s… how I connect with people, I guess. It was dumb. New Yorkers don’t like to be touched. I got it now.”

“We’ll stick around as much as we need to. We just want this to go away. And you… I know we’re probably not ideal clients. But we’ll make sure you get paid. Even if we… I mean, if we end up serving some kind of time.

“No. Ryan. We can’t serve time. I’m not prepared to face harden criminals just because I tried to…”

“Because you got drunk and forgot oh hey, you’re not actually that charming.”

“I’m pretty charming. Don’t lie to these nice gentlemen.”

Neither one of them wanted to admit to their attorneys that they didn’t technically know how they were going to find a hotel to stay in. Without credit cards or cash, the chances of any of these places letting them stay with the reassurance of ‘I’ll have the money in the morning. It just has to be wired.’ Was slim. So they bickered and they distracted.

“Right. The charming guy is the one beat to hell. Meanwhile, will you just go to the hospital and at least get your face glued back together?”

“Sure, and show them what insurance card? Or pay with which of my credit cards? Oh that’s right, Ryan. All that has been taken to prove some kind of point.”

Ryan hung his head. “Thank you, guys, for your help. We will follow whatever council you offer. Seth will stop being a pain in the ass sometime after he’s slept a little and given a pain pill. Then he’ll want to be your best friend and tell you stories of his favorite superheroes. He’s a bit of a fanboy.”

"Worst case scenario, you can stay with me," Matt started. 

Before he could go any farther though, Foggy held his hand up and dragged Matt aside. "Matt, no. You're not letting strangers in."

"They're not strangers. They're clients. And you heard them. Their things were taken. They're tourists. He was bashed. Where are they supposed to go?"

Foggy could sense the rage just under the surface, under Matt's calm voice. "Maybe they have friends here."

"If they don't, I'm not putting them on the goddamn street."

"Matt, what if they rob you? Or worse?"

Matt shook his head at Foggy and came back over. "If you have nowhere else to go, you'll stay with me. We're taking you to the hospital first. You'll receive emergency assessments without being charged right away. This kind of thing happens. Right now, I'm going to go get you out. In the meantime, go over the details with Foggy again. Every detail. Everything."

"You good to get back out, man?"

Matt snorted at the gentle teasing, which helped knock his anger down a bit, then turned and left.

It took almost two hours before anything happened after that. An officer drove them to the hospital and their assessments were done. Matt stayed near, protective, and let Foggy handle the administrative details this time.

After that? They were turned loose, once the boys received the all-clear, and Matt took them home, against Foggy's better judgment. Foggy was too tired to argue by that point though, and by the time they got there it was almost noon. He left them and went to the office, but warned Matt to be careful.

"You guys can take the bed if you need to sleep," Matt said, going into the kitchen. He poured them both some water and set the glasses out. "Or if you're hungry... I can make something. Just -- try not to be too stressed. You'll be okay."

Ryan, for the most part, kept quiet through the whole ordeal. He spoke when he had to, but mostly his comments were a series of shrugs and glances that spoke more than any string of sentences could do for him. He followed along as Seth was ushered between doctors. He made a call to Sandy to let him know what had happened, and to ask for some money transferred to them to at least be able to pay for these attorneys. He’d assured Sandy that there was no need to come down himself. That he was certain these guys would do just fine. They seemed competent enough.

When they got back to Matt’s place, Ryan nodded and instead of taking a bed, he stretched out across the couch and he was asleep in less than fifteen minutes. 

Seth, meanwhile, was high on pain killers, and while they should have made him sleepy, he was instead a little hyper and starving. But he’d imposed enough on Matt, or so Ryan had informed him… he thought. Did they actually have that conversation?

“You don’t have to cook for us.” Seth looked back at Ryan. “For me. Do you have crackers? I can snack on a box of them.” His face itched where the glue had been applied. A tube had been stuck in his chest to drain some of the blood, and that spot had stitches now, which were bandaged. And the oxycodone was the strongest they could prescribe. Sandy had had to come to the rescue by paying over the phone. Thank god Seth had a license, or he would have never been allowed to pick them up.

“So… I’m sure I’ll ask you this again. Or maybe I already have. But are you Murdock or Nelson. And what is it about attorneys that make them give up too much for their clients?”

"Murdock," he said. "Matt Murdock. My partner is Foggy Nelson. And I guess... it's just the right thing to do. A lot of the time, when someone needs an advocate, they need more than -- just someone to fight their legal battles. You've been through something that... for most people, it can be pretty traumatic. It's just.. not human, not decent, to -- ignore the person behind the victim."

Matt made up a bowl of crackers and some sliced cheese for him, then brought it over and handed it to Seth. He listened to Ryan for a moment, then walked into the bedroom and came back out with a blanket, which he draped over the sleeping guy before he came back over to join Seth. 

Seth ate happily, smiling, the expression scrunching his face just enough that he could not see at all out of his right eye.

“How did you… Your touches were nice… I mean they were soft, careful. And you… How did you know how bad off I was just by brushing your fingertips over…” Seth stuffed his mouth with crackers and cheese just to keep quiet for a while. He smiled awkwardly, and then realized that his smile wasn’t seen. “I’m really sorry in advance if I get awkward or weird or if I talk so much I find a way to make you uncomfortable. I know I’ll crash before long. Potentially right in my food, which is why I didn’t ask for a bowl of cereal. But I do appreciate your help. You have a good heart. And, I appreciate you deeming your partner’s concerns about us as unfounded. We’re not… I’m… I’ve never been in trouble before.”

Matt smiled and shook his head, then went and took his jacket off. Coming back over, he said, "My dad was a boxer. He got hurt -- all the time. I guess my hands just.. got used to feeling injuries from a pretty early age. A little extra tension, rigidity, heat.. it's -- sort of like reading braille, just a lot more important, because people are important."

“A boxer? That’s really interesting, actually. Ryan dabbled in the caged, bare knuckle illegal kind of boxing just after our last year of high school. An old girlfriend of his died in a car accident. So… Anyway. My point was me saying that I’ve never met a boxer before. OR a professional fighter of any kind. I’m kind of… I read more than anything, I suppose. Which is why I got my ass handed to me last night. I’m going to pull the cliche criminal line and say we’re really not bad guys. I don’t drink that much. And, if it’s any consolation, I likely won’t drink again for a very very long time.” He sighed heavily. “Right. So. Gritty details. You’re an attorney who had a boxer dad. You went into business with your best friend. I’m Seth Cohen. I am a bit of a nerd with no athletic ability. And, it seems, I owe you more than just money. You’re a nice man, Matt Nelson.” Seth smiled at himself for remembering the right name. Wait. No. “Murdock. I’m a dick. God, these pills are the worst. You wanna just… hit me over the head so I pass out. Or turn on the… Right… You wouldn’t have a television. I’m gonna stop talking now. Hopefully.”

"How about," Matt suggested, "I help you over to bed and you get some sleep somewhere that you can't hurt yourself?"

“I shouldn’t take your bed from you. You’ve been up all night like we have. And you didn’t even get the really good numbing shit like I did while they stuck a tube in my chest. You sleep. I’ll stretch on the floor. It’ll be fine.”

"Right. Come on." He helped Seth to the bed anyway, tucked him in, then went and picked Ryan up and carried him over. He tucked Ryan in as well, then slid the panel door most of the way shut before going and taking up Ryan's still-warm place on the couch. In just a few minutes, Matt was out.

Seth had sat up when Matt brought Ryan in, impressed with how easily he’d managed it. Ryan wasn’t that light. Seth knew. But he collapsed back, groaned, and then stared at the ceiling until he crashed. 

When Seth woke again, his bladder was full. He struggled to sit up, leaving himself breathless when he’d finally managed. Ryan was still sleeping, snoring lightly, and completely oblivious as Seth moved from the bed, shuffling in socked feet until he found the bathroom. When he made it back out, Ryan had stretched an arm and a leg across the bed. It would be easy for Seth to push him back over, but it was easier to grab the top blanket and move to go back to sleep in the living room floor.

Matt was already awake again, exercising. He was shirtless, in sweatpants, shadowboxing and framed by the light coming in from a light-up billboard across the street. Matt had been making an effort to be quiet, but when Seth came out, he turned towards him.

"Sorry if I woke you... how are you doing?" Quickly, hoping to cover up his scars, Matt pulled his t-shirt on.

Seth’s gaze drifted over the moving form, but he didn’t comment on the scars. It seemed inappropriate. “You didn’t wake me, my bladder did. And Ryan… has never been good about sharing a bed. Do we… I mean…” He reached for the bottle of pills sitting on the counter. “How do we start working on this? What do you need me to do?”

"Foggy and I have been working on it over the phone. For now, we just need to wait. He's taken down the photographs of your injuries and treatments that we got at the hospital, using them to argue that you were the victim. If they won't throw it out -- which they probably won't, but there's still a shot -- we'll go from there. Tonight, all you need to do is rest. Tomorrow... we'll have more information and go from there.

"How do you feel?" 

"Like I've been hit by a truck. My side hurts. My face hurts. And it's probably a good thing you're. I mean. I'm usually much prettier to look at. Not that... you would be looking. Of course." Seth groaned and poured water from the faucet into a glass. He tossed his head back to take the pills, and groaned again. He stuttered a step, and balanced himself against the counter. "Fuck. I'm not sure I like New York."

Matt smiled and shook his head. "Sometimes, I feel the same way. But Hell's Kitchen is home." He folded his arms and walked over to lean opposite Seth, on the island. 

"How long were you originally planning to stay here?"

"A week or so." The palms of his hands were pressed against the counter while his hips pushed away, his head hanging between his arms. The room was spinning and Seth felt a little nauseous. But he'd handle it.

"I'll have to call my bank at some point and tell them my card was taken. And my singular credit card. My cash... whatever. So tell me about this guy? And who the hell is Fisk? Some crime lord?"

"He was. Not anymore -- as far as I know. But people have been...rushing to take his place." Matt shrugged, then listened to Seth's body for a moment. "Maybe you should sit down. Here, let me help you over?" He offered Seth his arm.

Maybe he took it at first because it made him feel taken care of. Maybe because he liked the irony of the literal blind leading the half blind.

"You're more observant than I would have given you credit for. And that's a compliment. Because my dad never misses a damn thing." Seth watched Matt for a long minute. Then decided to let it go as he held his breath to prepare for his shift down to the couch. "And I hit on the sister-girlfriend of one of the wannabes?"

"I think so." He helped him get comfortable. "Which is why I've got to warn you that -- things might get ugly. Violent, ugly. This.. isn't the most forgiving place. But we'll get you through it, no matter what. Running away isn't an option."

"Well, if you aren't mister sunshine..." Seth stayed at the end in case Matt wanted to sit, and then his eyes rested on the bare windows. "She wasn't even that pretty. And I'm not... I mean I haven't tried to hook up with a girl since high school. Or early college, I suppose." Seth sighed. "IDK."

"IDK?" Matt sounded confused. 

"Yeah. IDK. It stands for I don't know. It's... well, it's text talk, but so is BFF and ILY. I'm just shy of being a millennial. Using full sentences can cost you valuable seconds."

"Oh.. huh. Alright then. Um. Tee why." Matt settled in on the other end of the couch.

Seth laughed, groaned, held his side, and looked over. His gaze was only diverted when Ryan sucked in a deep, gurgling, almost choking snore, before audibly rolling over.

"Charming, isn't he?

It seemed Matt wasn't overly ready to share details about the enemy in all this, so maybe Seth could get to know him. "How long have you and Foggy been friends?"

"Just since college. We were dorm-mates.. but we hit it off.. pretty well. He was just so -- normal and charming and good. Becoming best friends just sort of... felt so natural."

"It's good to have that person. Are you..." he continued on in a single breath, looking to Matt again. "Are you sure we're not cramping any plans?"

"Plans?" Matt raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah. Like other clients. Or going out to the gym. Crime fighting, that kinda thing?"

Matt's jaw dropped and for a moment, everything in his world went silent. 

When he took another breath, he managed to find his voice again. "Uh.. crime... crime fighting? Why did you... why... mention that?"

"It... I... was just rattling off things. Did Ryan not mention my fondness for superheroes? Did I dream that? Why? Are you an undercover cop? Is the blindness a ruse? I already believe you could kick my ass after seeing you box that little bit. It's kinda hot. But that's just me. You're a ninja, aren't you? Man, I always wanted to be one. The slimming black and the stealth. That would be the best."

Oh fuck. Okay. Okay. Seth didn't know. It took Matt another moment to remember what words were.

"No. I. Um. I'm not. A ninja. Or a cop. I'm blind. For real. Ninja are...usually not. I mean. So far as I -- not that I know a lot of them. Uh. So." He cleared his throat. "I guess I should... um. Call... and check in with Foggy."

Seth moved suddenly, gasped at the way such a movement took his breath away with pain. And gripped Matt carefully by the hand. "First off, god save you from ever having to be put on the stand in a trial. Second, your secret is safe with me." He winked, didn't care that it wasn't seen, and then moved back to his spot on the couch. "Is there a grocery store nearby? Or something. I... have no money to get a book. Shit."

"I'll... go get you one... but how... how did you... you know? You -- how -- how?" Seth might be feeling conversational already, but Matt was still flatlining. 

Seth smiled. "Don't spend more money on me. I get less chatty when I'm reading, is all. And I figured you wanted me to be quiet. And just... I don't know.

“It was a joke. And you panicked. 

"But I figure one of two things are true. The first is that you've kept your secret bottled up for too long and you are dying to be able to talk to someone about the truth. Or someone knowing makes you nauseous. In which case I'll totally forget everything. I'm probably just high on pills anyway."

But yesterday his high had been more morphine and a light sedative mixed with the oxycodone which gave him the buzz.

"Either way, you're safe." 

Matt's heart was racing and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "How did you... even... no. Sorry. I um. This.. is part of why I wanted you two here.. because if things get bad, I can probably, uh, protect you."

"You are blind. But you're hearing is... fuck are you... no. Batman isn't in New York." He pursed his lips. Thinking. "There are more deserving people to be saved, I'm sure." But Seth wasn't sure that they would have been safe in jail. Or in a hospital. And he imagined there would be a hit out for his or Ryan's names around the city. If this guy was as dangerous as Matt believed.

"Do you wanna talk about it? Do you have a patio, though? Because Ryan has a tendency to sneak up on people like a ninja. You get it."

"No, uh, no patio, but we can go to the roof if you're -- sure you're up for it. But... we probably shouldn't move you too much. When he wakes, I'll know. Trust me. I can uh. I can hear his heart. And breathing. From here." 

Seth was beaming with the little truths. "What else."

"What... um. I. What do you... want to know?" 

"Dude, as much as you'll share. I'm sorry. I know I'm geeking out on you a little, but I'm also kind of just in awe. I didn't know... I mean. You're great."

"I'm not great. I'm just... they call me the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. But I'm just a vigilante, just -- I want people safe. That's... that's it." Matt sounded embarrassed. 

Seth reeled his comments in, but his eyes were wide. He'd heard of the Devil. Argued with his Dad for an hour about why he was, in fact, a hero, just a couple months ago. Fuck. 

Fuck.

"Does your partner know?"

"Yeah. He... it wasn't pretty. When he found out. We fought.. but he's accepting it. Slowly, but... it means a lot that he's, you know, he's trying."

"Sure. Listen, do you want me to stop asking? Because I will." Or he'd at least try. "But man. If you're going to be a... a hero. You've gotta get better at lying."

Matt hesitated, then shook his head. "No, you uh, you don't have to stop. And... you're... probably right. I.. I'll find a way to..work on that.."

"Start with your assertiveness. I know you can do it. I think I heard you be that way with Foggy last night. Or I dreamed it. Who knows. But if someone says 'crime fighter' or 'super hero' or 'vigilante' or even 'ninja' your immediate reaction should be to scoff. Always assume people are joking. And even if they aren't joking, they'll think that you think what they said is so preposterous, that it can't be true."

Matt nodded, but he stayed quiet. Thank God Seth understood, and thank God he was willing to keep his secret -- and to help him keep it, for that matter. 

"Thank you. I know you're a vigilante, and you keep to the shadows and keep anonymous for a reason. But you took us in. And you save people's lives. And whether you like it or not, you deserve to be thanked. At fucking least once."

Matt still couldn't talk. He hunched over a little, arms wrapped over his chest. He didn't even know what he was thinking or feeling, he didn't know how to react. On some level he was grateful that this had happened with Seth. He had to learn to scoff it all away, Seth was right, but still...

Fuck.

"I'm... Maybe I should go get me more water." He could sense the tension, and didn’t want to make it worse. But a trip up to a balcony? There was no way Seth could manage stairs today. He already had a limp, and the slightest extension on his left side left his ribs screaming. So, water and apparently freaking this guy out by accidentally guessing right -- that was today's game plan. 

"Stay. I'll get it." He took Seth's glass and patted his knee once, extremely gently, then got up. "Is Ryan... would you trust him with -- this?" 

"I could trust him with it. He's incredibly loyal. But. It is not my secret to tell."

Okay, honestly, Seth was shit at keeping secrets. But he would. He would do this. After all, how often did he get the chance to know a secret identity? 

"Speaking of. I'm impressed he's still asleep. He must have not slept on the flight over."

Matt didn't like the idea of asking someone to lie to their best friend, but for now he kept quiet on it. After getting Seth more water, he went back to the kitchen to start making some breakfast for all of them.

"It sounds like he's coming out of it... slowly. Do you guys eat pancakes in California?"

"Do we ever. Pancakes are a life source." Though he hurt, he didn't know how to stay still when he was this excited. So he carefully worked to stand up -- the couch kinda swallowed you -- and then walked over to the kitchen island, carefully sitting on a stool.

"Can I help?"

"The company is nice," Matt replied as he got started. "Just... talking, it's nice. I like your voice."

Seth blushed and looked down. "This old thing?" He chuckled and smiled wide enough that his dimples showed. 

I like your arms...

"So what do you do when you're not being an attorney or sleeping or being a ninja?"

"Eat. Shower. Exercise. Sometimes go drinking with Foggy. And... that's... about it. Which... pretty boring, I know. What about you? Tell me about yourself?"

And so Seth did. He told Matt a little about his parents and what they did. He talked about his hometown and the jocks who beat him up and peed in his shoes. He talked about Ryan's arrival, about Marissa and Summer. And then talked about where he was now. No solid job -- just doing art concepts of.... super heroes, and selling them. He wrote stories, offered commissions where he could turn people into super heroes and give them their own, single issue, story with graphics included. Seth talked about sailing, and how he'd sailed to Oregon once when Ryan had left to go back home for a summer because of a baby scare. And how he still wanted to sail to Tahiti on his little boat. He talked about life in general. How Ryan had just parted ways with his off-again girlfriend Taylor who talked too much and was a bit obsessed with being the center of attention. And his parents again, their move to Berkeley. Seth talked until breakfast was ready. 

Ryan, lead by his nose, dragged out of the bedroom, rubbing an eye. "I thought I heard the endless white noise of Seth's life story. Did I sleep walk?"

"Do you usually?" Matt asked. He served up breakfast for all of them. "And I don't know what you mean, Seth hasn't said a word all night..." he smiled, and for a moment, it was the warmest and the happiest Matt had ever looked. 

Seth's returned smile was full of adoration and Ryan rolled his eyes as he caught sight of it. "No... N-Not that I know of. But I thought I fell asleep on the couch."

Seth beamed, pointed to Matt, and half-whispered "He's strong," as if that explained everything.

It didn't. 

"You did," Matt said. "But I'm a secret ninja and I carried you to the bed. It's more comfortable."

Ryan laughed, scoffed, almost, as if the idea of a secret ninja was a bit absurd. It wasn't an insulting sound, just as if he were responding to a joke Matt was telling. 

It was the exact sound Seth had been trying to explain to Matt earlier. 

"So," Seth said, looking back at Matt, allowing himself to look for a moment with a soft, appreciative gaze. "Thank you for breakfast. You've been a very gracious host. Let alone a defense attorney.”

"You're welcome for breakfast," Matt answered, although he also blushed a little and, now that Ryan was up, went to get his glasses. "So how are you feeling, Ryan?" He sat on the couch, giving them the kitchen space to themselves, and thinking about the lesson Seth had just given him and that Ryan had unknowingly finished.

 Seth ate in near silence while Ryan shrugged, clearly not thinking twice about the joke Matt had delivered, figuring the man had just already spent too much time with Seth.

"Well enough. I'm a little sore from the few punches they delivered. But it's nothing." He gestured at Seth. "I look a hell of a lot better than this kid with his black and busted up eye and cheek. It's a shame. You used to be so handsome. Now who's gonna love you."

"My mother will always love me. Dick. But you're right. I look like Quasimodo."

"Here's hoping you fare better than he did." Matt smiled again.

"Ha!" Seth pointed again at Matt and looked at Ryan, and the latter knew that there was some kind of infatuation on Seth's part. Which could only stand to complicate things. Especially because this guy didn't exactly read as being one who was open to dating males.

"Any word on the case?"

"No." Matt shook his head and told him what he'd told Seth. After, he said, "I'll have to abandon you two tomorrow during the day to go work on it, unless you want to come to the office. We won't hear anything until after ten -- but from there, we'll know the next step."

"Take your clients to work day. Your office sounds swell."

"I'm gonna stick around here and make some calls. All the banks are closed today, obviously. So I'll make calls about canceling cards and having money transferred and hopefully getting us a hotel tomorrow. That way, maybe, we can get out of your hair." Ryan wiped syrup from his lip as he finally looked at Seth. "How are you feeling?"

Seth pouted. He didn't want to go. But he told Ryan what he wanted to know. It was easier to humor him. 

Ryan casually ignored the look of pleading.  They couldn't stay.

"You know, you're safer here than at a hotel," Matt said quietly. "I know that may sound... tough to believe, but it's true."

"It's true, Ryan. What if they come looking for us. They have our names."

"Seth, this isn't one of your graphic novels. There aren't evil crime lords who look to destroy people for hitting on a girl."

Seth's brow raised and Ryan faltered.

"Wh-- No. Seth. No. You did not get us mixed up with an evil crime lord."

Seth pursed his lips and shrugged, taking a bite of pancake.

"Damnit, Seth."

"Listen, I know your mad now. But think of how exciting this is."

"We're hiding out in our attorney's apartment. Of course you're excited."

"Adventure, Ryan. We'll be safe here. And we can just pay them a little extra when it comes time to pay our bill. That way we make up for the inconvenience."

Ryan finally looked back at Matt. "You're sure this is okay? We're not putting you in danger, are we?"