ergon | .OPEN POST. (let's play)

.OPEN POST. (let's play)

[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]

[ It's 3am and he's climbing in through the fire escape instead of using the front door like a regular person. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it has nothing on Bucky. There are dark circles under his eyes that speak as a testament for too many sleepless nights and shallow dreams plagued by nightmares. He's not even sure why he comes here at these odd hours, seeking some kind of companionship from the man who set him free.

Matt Murdock's the only reason that he isn't currently rotting in supermax, or set up in the electric chair - and Bucky will never forget that. The trial of the century, Barnes v. The United States. He remembers the picketers outside the courtroom, calling for his execution. America doesn't take kindly to its traitors. Especially not those who murdered JFK.

(The newspapers had been buzzing about that revelation for weeks. History books had to be rewritten. It was a big deal for just about everyone.)

He uses the fire escape because people still recognize him, and no hoodie and ball-cap combo will be able to change that. Bucky lifts himself up the final flight of stairs and stands outside of Matt's window, barely noticing the cold wind whipping around him.

Bucky knocks on the window as an odd sort of courtesy, despite the circumstances of his arrival. ]

[ Matt senses him even before he lands on the fire escape -- there is a signature to every heartbeat, a rhythm to every individual's movement, and Matt has worked long enough with James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes to pick him out from a crowd. It's a case that has the whole world talking about it -- and despite the high profile case there aren't many lawyers willing to risk the wrath of redblooded patriots baying for Barnes' head.

Kill a President (especially one like JFK), and you're looking at a death sentence. But Barnes, Matt knows, deserves a shot at a trial like everyone else. He'd followed the news, after all, and after picking through the filler, speculation and wild sensationalism, the gist of the story is this: the man is not responsible for his actions, and it's on this that Matt had tenaciously, ferociously defended his client, tirelessly poring over decades of evidence, countless nights with Foggy and Karen researching, drafting, re-drafting. After all, it's the biggest case of their lives, their entire careers -- and more than that, to Matt, it's a life that hangs in the balance. It's because of this that he could wave off the protests and staunch criticisms more easily, acutely aware of how this case could just about divide the nation. And it did. For months, it did.

And then it is over.

Barnes walks free at last, even if his own demons will always haunt him -- and Matt is aware, too, that while he might not have been imprisoned, there are some men who carry their prisons with them wherever they go; Barnes is such a man. Despite the celebration, the jubilation, Matt only offers Barnes a gentle pat on the shoulder and a grim nod.

The hard road is still ahead, and this time, Matt cannot help him. He's mulled over it long enough, the morality of Barnes' existence as The Winter Soldier, the people he's killed -- his doubts set aside when he had met him in person, together with Captain America, the stalwart friend who had never left his side for long. Matt sympathizes; the guilt must be overwhelming.

But the case ends and the uproar slowly dies down, and Matt goes to do what he does best -- taking a beating and then some in the name of protecting his city, and he's having one of those evenings when Bucky finds him. He finishes up the last stitch, just barely, but there's no time to do anything about the multiple bruises on his face, and he gingerly pulls a shirt over his hastily sewn up wounds, glasses sitting firmly on the bridge of his nose mitigating some of the damage before he feels for the latch and pulls it up for him to enter.

Barnes, he thinks, is definitely allergic to using main doors; and really, it's not like Matt has room to talk. ]

Hey. [ He says after a moment; speaking first means there's a higher chance he gets to steer the conversation away from his injuries. ] Can't sleep?

[ He knows how much Matt sacrificed to keep him alive. Being martyred by the press. Having his legal office vandalized a couple times. Threats and hate mail being sent his way by the people who want Bucky to pay for what he's done, conscience be damned. It seems like an illogical slight against America's pride to let a man who killed one of their most beloved figures to walk away alive. To this day, there are still people who say that it was a weakness on the part of the courts, that the jury was too soft.

He's grateful, but he still doesn't think that he was ever worth any of this. Everybody deserves a fair trail, but he's not sure that still counts when you're a monster.

Bucky knows better than to bring this up to Matt again, though. Like Steve, the man is bullheaded to a fault and would never accept his reasoning. He tells himself that the reason he stops by to check on him is to make sure that he's okay and some patriotic 'vigilante' hasn't escalated the situation beyond hate mail and graffiti. But the real reason is that he has his suspicions, and he's had them for a while. And when Matt comes to the window, they are instantly confirmed. ]

You're him. [ It's a statement, not a question. ] The devil of Hell's Kitchen.

[ He remembers the day they first met. Bucky had thought, he sees too much. It was the way he moved that gave it away, pretending to lack grace. Bucky knows how to spot a threat the instant he sees it. ]

[ Matt is good at his fair share of things, and most especially when it comes to taking a beating and dishing one out himself -- but he's considerably shit at lying, especially to a seasoned veteran like Barnes. Even so, his expression closes into something unreadable; what do you say to a point-blank assertion like that? Barnes' heartbeat is regular, his breathing even, and it's obvious that he means it.

So here is the choice to make: to continue the lie, or own up to it here, before this man, this person who he's come to care for in the months preceding. A denial is on the tip of his tongue, one to be issued instinctively and firmly followed by a change of subject -- but this denial will serve only to insult; after all, Bucky Barnes is too damn good at what he does.

Matt steps aside to let him in, letting the silence hang between them a few moments longer. ]

Did you come here just to tell me that?

[ Choosing not to lie is a good first step, because it saves them the need to go through a familiar dance of denial and reassertion. Matt says nothing to that effect, but his silence is an answer in itself. Bucky steps inside, but he's trying to make sure that everything about his tone is light and not accusatory.

After all, it isn't like he disagrees with what Matt's been doing. He's not here to admonish him. ]

I came here because I wanted to see a friendly face.

[ It sounds a little flat and lame, and leads to Bucky rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He doesn't really know why he came, to be honest. ]

Something like that.

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