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wineanddinosaur · 3 years

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EOD Drinks With Francis Ford Coppola

On today’s episode of “End of Day Drinks,” we’re talking with the iconic director Francis Ford Coppola. He’s known for his amazing movies, but he’s also just as well known for his amazing wine. While many know him for Francis Ford Coppola Winery, Francis owns many other wineries. We’re going to talk about all of them. We’re going to find out how Francis first fell in love with wine, thanks to his Italian heritage. We’ll also hear the story of how he decided to use his earnings from “The Godfather” to buy a winery.

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From VinePair’s New York City headquarters, this is “End of Day Drinks,” where we sit down with the movers and shakers in the beverage industry. So pour yourself a glass, and listen along with us. Let’s start the show.

K: Everyone, my name is Keith Beavers, and I am the tastings director of VinePair, as well as the host of VinePair’s “Wine 101” podcast. Welcome to “End of Day Drinks.” Today, we are joined by Francis Ford Coppola, film director, producer, writer, winery owner, vintner, I’m sure there’s more. Francis, thank you so much for joining us.

FFC: My pleasure.

K: And as always, today, we are joined by members of the VinePair editorial team. We have VinePair co-founder and CEO Adam Teeter.

A: Hi, Keith. Hi, Francis.

K: We have VinePair senior editor Cat Wolinski.

C: Hello, Francis. Thanks so much for joining us.

FFC: My pleasure, Cat. My pleasure to meet you.

K: We also have VinePair associate editor Katie Brown.

Katie: Hey, guys. Excited to be here today.

K: We also have staff writer Tim McKirdy.

Tim: Hi, guys, how’s it going?

FFC: Doing good.

FFC: And VinePair executive editor Joanna Sciarrino.

Joanna: Hi, everyone. Hi, Francis.

FFC: Hello, Joanna.

K: So, Francis, thank you again for joining us. You’re out on the West Coast? Are you doing some wine out there?

FFC: Well, I’m here in the Napa Valley in Rutherford, actually up in the mountain overlooking beautiful nature. I’m so fortunate and blessed to be able to be here during this difficult pandemic era.

K: You have a passion for wine as much as you have a passion for film. I was just curious: Did one come before the other, or how did that work out?

FFC: Well, you know, I think you can say I have a passion for everything. I have a passion for life. It’s such a privilege to even be alive. All of us can feel that way. But being an Italian American, I was raised in a household on the East Coast, in Long Island. And from the dawn of my consciousness, I never saw a dinner table that didn’t have wine on it. All my uncles, and my father, and my mother, as the children of immigrants, were all born in the United States, but they still spoke Italian. They didn’t teach it to the kids, so I didn’t learn. I was named after my grandfather, Francesco, but they wanted to call me Francis. So we were really new Americans, but the tradition remained. We drink wine at the table. As I said, even the kids, we didn’t drink glasses of wine shoulder to shoulder with our parents, but we were allowed a little wine and we would put 7Up or ginger ale or cream soda in it. Wine was part of that family ritual of dinner for me. As I grew older, I eventually traveled to Europe, and I collaborated on a script. I was a film person by then, and I collaborated on a script in Paris with the great Gore Vidal, and I had this opportunity to meet him. He was a very brilliant person. He knew Europe, and being with him, I had the chance to taste some great wine. I said, “My goodness, this is so delicious.” I mean, the wine we drank— the wine my father and my grandfather drank— that was good, honest wine made by some of the immigrant families, like Gallo. There were plenty of them. They made their own during Prohibition with grapes supplied by the Mondavi family. But this was a different story, having the wines of Bordeaux, Romanée Conti from Burgundy. I tasted wine from Rhône, and I thought, “My God, this is more delicious than Coca-Cola.” Coca-Cola was my standard as a kid. I had great luck and good fortune to taste some great wines. I remember when I had the opportunity to have a little bit of money — because most of my life I was really penniless, and I was a starving student with barely enough to eat — which is why I gained weight, incidentally, because every night I used to have the Kraft Macaroni & Cheese dinner, which cost 19 cents when I went to college. So when I made “The Godfather” film, and for the first time I had money, I said to my wife, “Let’s get a little summer house in the Napa Valley. It’s only an hour away, and the kids — I have two boys — we can all have fun at the summer house. But maybe we can have an acre of grapes, and then we can make wine ourselves, and for Christmas, we can give it to all the relatives.” So when I went there, the real estate agent said, “Oh, this isn’t for you, but they’re going to auction a great estate.” I said, “Well, what’s that?” They said it was part of the most beautiful estate of all, which was the Inglenook Estate, which has been all broken up by the corporations that owned it. But the family was auctioning the home. My wife and I went and saw it, and it was just an incomparable beauty — we couldn’t believe it. It was 1,700 acres. We made a bid on it. We didn’t get it. But then I said, “Gee, we should get a bigger place.” But the story is actually that the people who bought it did sell it to us, and we started to live here.

K: Wow, you started living there, and now you’re surrounded by wine.

FFC: Yeah, well, when you live in Napa Valley, all your neighbors and friends all make wine, and they make very good wine. You guys are much more connoisseurs, probably, than I am. I was never one. I went out of my way to not be someone who would sip wine on its own and discuss its various aromatics. I like to drink wine with food. I’m not a savant when it comes to that. I know what I enjoy, and I always like to learn more. Your panel of your associates, I’m sure that they’re much more sophisticated than I. But I will tell them from my perspective what I think about wine, and wine and food, and film, and life. I’m really interested in everything. I think of all the pleasures of life, the greatest one is learning. That’s what I like to do. That’s the key to how I got involved in the wine business — it was an accident.

K: That’s great.

C: Francis, this is Cat. It seems like the one thing that ties all of your passions together, whether it’s filmmaking or winemaking or otherwise, is your family. How important is family legacy to you in your businesses?

FFC: Well, I think I have to go one step further and tell you that in my personal philosophy, the highest level of something to have would be friends. Friendship, I think, is the most valued possible goal. It’s not money, it’s not billions of dollars, it’s not possessions. It’s friends. Family is a subset of friends. It should be, because these are the people who you are the most intimate with, and the most invested in their well-being, although I feel that way about all friends. In fact, all people — because, as you know, the human race, the Homo sapien race that we’re part of, is all one family. You and I are actually related by a grandmother if you go back far enough. We’re all family, and if you think of it that way, friendship is like family. All of us on the phone right now are all part of the same family.

T: Hey, Francis, this is Tim here. I’ve got a question for you. We’ve been talking about your early life and early days, and then moving on to your early life in wine. So you bought a property in Napa in the ’70s. What was that like then? Because we’re talking pre-Judgment of Paris. I imagine it was very different to how it looks now, or is that wrong? What was the landscape there?

FFC: I think Napa Valley, and the vineyards, and the wine business was in the middle of a turning point. There had been the glory days right after Prohibition. Inglenook Wines was under the supervision of their second generation — I never met him, but he was a wonderful man named John Daniel, who was the great-grandnephew of the founder Gustave Niebaum in 1870. At any rate, there was a transition, and people didn’t really know what was going to happen. In fact, the corporations started sniffing around the thing because families didn’t know quite what the next generation was looking at. It was a very damaging time because corporations bought both Heublein, which was in Connecticut, and bought both Inglenook and BV, which were two of the real reasons why Rutherford is such an important region. They dismembered them; they broke them apart and sold them. They made one into a supermarket wine, and made another into their luxury wine. They did a lot of damage. That’s why a kid from Great Neck, Long Island who had just made some money off of “The Godfather,” was even able to buy a property— the real knowledgeable people were very unsure of whether or not something like the property I bought was really a white elephant. It was sort of like what happened to the movie studios after the ’70s, when people bought MGM, or these great, wonderful studios (that in France would have been preserved by the cultural laws) and just broke them apart and sold the property. And Century City was built on the incredible back lot of 20th Century Fox — all the extraordinary props, the famous ruby slippers, everything was just sold and monetized in a way that I guess American industry does. As you know, we have a secretary of culture here. Nothing protected it. For that reason, my wife and I were really strangers to running wineries, and we were able to have that opportunity and the blessing of such a magnificent property. Interestingly, I began to feel very much as though I was the exploiter of this wonderful heritage — it was originally called Niebaum-Coppola, and we were starting to do very good business. People would come and look at my Oscars and the film memorabilia. We had a very popular product that was not really from the grapes here, called Claret. And to this day, Claret is tremendously successful, and a good bargain. It’s an $18 bottle of red wine that never lets you down. So I began to feel embarrassed. I announced at the time that I’m going to take everything out of Niebaum-Coppola — my awards, my name, the Claret, any wine that wasn’t made there because I wanted it to be pure, and I wanted it to be what it really was. I said we’ll find some other winery in Sonoma or somewhere, and we’ll call it Rosso & Bianco, and I’ll move my Oscars there because I really felt embarrassed. I didn’t want the property called Niebaum-Coppola to be a temple for myself. I didn’t even want the other winery to be called Francis Coppola. I wanted to be called Rosso & Bianco, in the name of one of our wines. But I was making a movie at the time, and when I came back, the Niebaum-Coppola Claret had become the Francis Coppola Claret, and the winery in Sonoma was called Francis Coppola Winery. In terms of making money, it might have been a good decision, but it embarrassed me tremendously. I’ve seen my name on so much stuff, and it only embarrasses me. Incidentally, the now Inglenook Winery is absolutely disconnected. They are two separate companies. There’s nothing that connects them other than the fact they’re owned by the same family. There’s nothing that connects them, which I feel is very necessary when you’re making a premium wine. Their business philosophy is different. If you tell me a couple of wineries that we’re making 5,000 cases of a certain wine, and if we add this other component to it, we can have 8,000 cases that’ll be almost as good, you’re likely to say, “OK, do it.” But if at Inglenook, you say, “OK, we have the same thing: 5,000 cases and if we add a little of this to the batch, it’ll be almost as good.” You say no. It’s a different ownership proposition, and that’s why the two companies have to be totally separate.

A: So, Francis, it’s Adam here. I have a question for you about the Claret. It’s actually one of the first wines I ever had. It’s one of the wines that helped me fall in love with wine. In all seriousness, when I was just graduating college (I’d actually been a film major). I knew your movies and then came in contact with your wine. I think it helped a lot of people discover wine. When you created the Claret, did you have the idea then that it would become such an ambassador for wine in general, and for everything else in wine that you would do? Or was it just a wine you were looking to create at the time because as you were saying it was something that the Valley really hadn’t experienced before.

FFC: Well, to tell you the truth, when I was your age, when I was a young guy— and I have become used to drinking wine, especially when I have the opportunity to have certain foods, like a steak, or something that seems to demand it. There was an Australian wine. I don’t remember the name of what it was called. It was a Shiraz. It’s a very famous one, and it was the only wine that you would really see — I made a movie called “The Rain People” driving across the country. We would get great steaks. You couldn’t get wine, but there was this one wine, and when I saw that wine, I knew it would never let you down.

A: Was it Lindemans?

FFC: No, it was ubiquitous. It was everywhere. It was very, very much available. And it was good. And you could trust that if you bought it you were OK. So with Claret, that was my image. I wanted to make a wine that would never let you down, that wasn’t too expensive, and gave you a really enjoyable wine-food experience that you could count on that you wouldn’t have to doubt. I’ll remember that name and I’ll tell you what — I’ll send an email with what it was called, but that was the inspiration. A wine that wouldn’t let you down.

A: Amazing.

KB: That’s awesome. And speaking of access and accessibility, you guys were the first winery, or at least in modern history, to put wine in a can. Can you tell us a little bit about what led to that decision? And then as a follow-up, I was curious, do you recommend drinking Sofia in the can, or pouring it into a glass first?

FFC: Well, the story there is this, when Sofia was a little girl, like 7 or 8, she was living here on the estate. In fact, she was a very feisty little girl. At one time, I was in the middle of a bankruptcy, and the process servers would come on the property just to try to serve at the property, which they’re not allowed to do because it’s a big estate. They’re not allowed to trespass. And of course, when one would come, my wife and I would hide, but little Sofia would stand on the porch and say, “Stop, you have no right to be here.”

K: That’s awesome!

FFC: “Leave immediately!” She was quite a kid. And I used to tell her when she was 7 that when she was married, we were going to serve a wine that was going to be like Champagne — of course, we can’t make Champagne, but we used to enjoy a blanc de blancs wine in Paris. And so we made this sparkling blanc de blancs wine called Sofia. It was an innovation, I know now there’s a big trend of people towards Prosecco and stuff like that. But back then, no. So Sofia was the early incarnation of a domestic sparkling blanc de blancs. Not Champagne, not at that level, of course, but at that time in the clubs, the kids were starting to drink with a straw, little bottles of Pommery Pop. So we said, “Well, why don’t we make a small container of four for Sofia?” Sofia, herself, and her brother said, “Well, why don’t we put it in those long, tall, Japanese cans?” One of the beauties of my family is that whenever I went anywhere for work, if I was going to be gone for more than two weeks, I took the kids out of school and brought them with me. So as little kids, they got to live in Japan, they got to live in the Philippines, they got to hang out with movie crews. I thought their schooling was more important than the experiences they were having, and I put Sofia in a Chinese school. Their academic thing was a mess, but it was very stimulating, and they knew about Japan and stuff like that. Sofia said, “Call it a mini,” and we put this type of Champagne, not Champagne but blanc de blancs in these little minis and had a straw attached to it.

And the idea was it would be something for kids that were going to clubs. We were copying, remember the Pommery Pop?

A: I do, yeah.

FFC: So we put them in little cans. I wouldn’t drink it out of the straw. I like to drink wine out of a glass, and I like to drink everything out of a glass. I love beverages, and I love the enjoyment of drinking a beverage in a pretty glass, a nice glass — simple but pretty.

K: Speaking of pretty glasses and wine, that reminds me of Pinot Noir, because Pinot Noir smells so good in a nice glass. You have a new venture, and you’re in the Dundee Hills in Willamette. It’s where it all began, so you decided to start something there. That’s really exciting. Do you want to let us know about that?

FFC: I love the Willamette Pinot Noir, I’m an admirer, and I heard there was an opportunity to buy a property right next to the wonderful — and I hope I can pronounce it right — it’s the Domaine Drouhin.

K: Yes.

FFC: They’re the family who really started that style of Pinot Noir in a Burgundy fashion in that area. Then it was copied by a few other people. But it’s like Napa Valley, where all your neighbors make wonderful things. But I love the Domain Drouhin, and the wonderful French family. We were able to buy this property. I think forget what it was called now, but I wanted to give it — I’m very interested, I’m passionate about sciences and businesses, and I always loved this young nobleman de Broglie who won the Nobel Prize and was part of the group that were really essential in quantum physics — and the idea that he was a prince. Now you think of a prince as a guy who has a life and he’s got good clothes and girls like him ’cause he’s a prince? And yet here was one who was devoted to science and was passionate, and was a very shy prince. I wanted to honor him as I have honored the great scientist Archimedes, so I called it Domaine de Broglie and it’s in his honor. I also have certain connections. I took some of the props from the movie “Is Paris Burning?” that I put up there. And I made it with things that I’m passionate about, in this case science and quantum physics. It’s a beautiful place, and the wine is wonderful and fragrant. I’m very proud of the Domaine de Broglie, I really am.

K: Yeah, it looks really great. I love the sparkling wine and Pinot Gris, which is very exciting in Oregon. When I was looking at the website , I really can’t wait to taste the wines. Does your family still call you Science. Is that still your nickname?

FFC: No, Science was not said in a nice way. When the kids at Jamaica High School called me Science, they went “SCIENCE, SCIENCE.” It was an insult.

C: Oh my God, no! That’s awful. Jokes on them.

FFC: It was to put me down. And in New York Military Academy, I was very skinny in those days, they used to call me Ichabod.

K: Ichabod Science.

FFC: Those were different schools. I was always taken out of school or put in another school for reasons I don’t even understand. My father was always moving. I went to about 22 schools before college, so I had what I realized was a benefit. No school ever got a hold of me and brainwashed me because I was in and out of school. Once I went to three junior high schools in one year.

K: In one year!?

FFC: Yeah, I went to six high schools. I went to Jamaica High School, University High School, Bayside High School, Great Neck High School, and New York Military Academy.

C: You had a very well-rounded education growing up.

FFC: Well, there is a theory. There’s a great philosopher, educator — for those of you interested he’s named Ivan Illich — who came up with in the ’70s this idea that school was actually a danger to children because it tended to brainwash them into thinking that the kind of society we’re in where you get a better job and you make more money, and you get all the accreditation, and the grading, and the grades — was to brainwash good, obedient little cog in the wheel of our society, and that the best thing would be to abolish school and to institute learning in a totally different way. I’m reading this book and said, my God, I got away with de-schooling because they never had me for more than two months! A school in New York in those days, which was the early ’50s, a school in New York was totally different than a school in L.A. They were very different styles, and one of the most embarrassing moments of my life was when I came into a class late in L.A. and the teacher said, “You’re tardy.” And I said, “I’m not tardy, I’m Coppola!” Because in New York, they never said you’re tardy, they said you’re late. I didn’t know what tardy meant. But the happy thing is, I really think that the fact that I had not gone through regular schooling was that I was, in the words of this philosopher, getting de-schooled, it probably was an advantage to me. And I know my children, Sophia and Roman, my eldest son Gio — they didn’t do well academically, but in life they learned all about a lot of things, about exotic countries and different kinds of people and movies. And they’ve all benefited in a funny way. I think putting your kid in a regimented school with kids of their age going for accreditation and their prescribed curriculum is ultimately damaging. I would recommend a different system of learning. I don’t even want to call it education. We have a secretary of education, and I wish, of course, in addition, that we had a secretary of youth, because education is just about ideology and budgets. It’s not about young people. But our young people are the most valuable people in our whole country, and we never listen to them, we never ask what their aspirations are. I would split the secretary of education, and a second one, the secretary of youth that really brings young people into having a say about the society that’s going to be theirs.

K: Yeah, life experience is everything.

J: This is Joanna, one last question for you: What is next, in terms of expansion. Are there more properties in Oregon or any other regions that you’re interested in?

FFC: Well, a region that I absolutely love and that I think has wonderful wines and is very affordable would be Argentina. Certain countries have a region which is considered the wine region, like Napa Valley. Argentina has a region in Mendoza, which people think is the wine region, but really, that’s just the region where a lot of people settle down. In fact, most of Argentina is a wonderful wine region and all along the mountains there, if you have water, Argentina is a natural vineyard — the whole country, practically. Argentina has made great wine, but they’re not as well known as Chilean wines, which, of course, is on the other side of the mountains. Because the Chileans are basically descended from Germans and they’re very good at business and selling and stuff whereas the Argentine people are more so descendants of the Italians, and so they make the wine, but they drink it. I know when I go to a wine list and I don’t want to go broke, I always look at the Argentine selection because, again, you get wonderful wines for very fair prices. I think the Chilean wine is OK. But to me, the great wine from south of the border is in Argentina. And if I were a younger man or if the opportunity fell on my lap, I would love to have a place there or maybe even with a hotel, a place you can go visit. Who’s the gentleman who has a beautiful place in northern Argentina, what’s his name? He also has a winery here.

K: Well, Tim McKirdy who is on right now, he is our staff writer, but he also was a chef in Argentina for a couple of years.

TM: Yeah, I was out in Buenos Aires for a while in San Telmo. I believe you may be familiar with the neighborhood.

FFC: I love San Telmo. So when you say horse, you say gabacho?

TM: I say gabacho. I like to think of Italians, speaking Spanish.

FFC: Well, that’s exactly what it is! On the list of the top hotels in Argentina, the first one. What’s that great big, beautiful hotel?

T: The Faena? I think it’s the Faena, maybe. I’m not sure.

FFC: Well that’s a more hip hotel. But there’s a classic hotel there that’s wonderful. But our hotel, which is called Jardin Escondido, is No. 5, and it only has about eight rooms. It’s really, really lovely.

K: That’s beautiful. Well, Francis, thank you so much for taking the time to talk to us. This was an awesome conversation. It was so great, and I’m so glad we got everything to work. Thank you again!

FFC: It was my pleasure. One thing: You know, I’m 81 years old, about to be 82. But, you know, the truth of the matter is— it’s not just “I have a passion for film.” I have a passion for everything. I think a human being is a wonderful entity with kindness. We’re a much kinder and more friendly people than we think. It’s just that we’re all addicted to news now, which scours the world looking for something bad to say. All of you, I know, are younger than me, and I want you to have some of my enthusiasm for living, learning, friendship, and the future, because the future will be beautiful. We’ll share meals with our friends, with wine, and we’ll see beautiful works of art. And your children — it’s important to have that to look forward to. That’s my sincere belief, and of course, my hope, for a blessing for all of us.

C: That was beautiful.

ALL: Thank you so much.

FFC: Bye bye. Nice to meet you.

Thanks for listening to this week’s episode of “EOD Drinks.” If you’ve enjoyed this program, please leave us a rating or a review wherever you get your podcasts. It really helps other people discover the show. And tell your friends. We want as many people as possible listening to this amazing program.

And now for the credits. “End of Day Drinks” is recorded live in New York City at VinePair’s headquarters. And it is produced, edited, and engineered by VinePair tastings director, yes, he wears a lot of hats, Keith Beavers. I also want to give a special thanks to VinePair’s co-founder, Josh Malin, to the executive editor Joanna Sciarrino, to our senior editor, Cat Wolinski, senior staff writer Tim McKirdy, and our associate editor Katie Brown. And a special shout-out to Danielle Grinberg, VinePair’s art director who designed the sick logo for this program. The music for “End of Day Drinks” was produced, written, and recorded by Darby Cici. I’m VinePair co-founder Adam Teeter, and we’ll see you next week. Thanks a lot.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article EOD Drinks With Francis Ford Coppola appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/eod-drinks-francis-ford-coppola/

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johnboothus · 3 years

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EOD Drinks With Francis Ford Coppola

Listen Online

Listen on Apple Podcasts

Listen on Spotify

Or Check out the Conversation Here

FFC: My pleasure.

K: And as always, today, we are joined by members of the VinePair editorial team. We have VinePair co-founder and CEO Adam Teeter.

A: Hi, Keith. Hi, Francis.

K: We have VinePair senior editor Cat Wolinski.

C: Hello, Francis. Thanks so much for joining us.

FFC: My pleasure, Cat. My pleasure to meet you.

K: We also have VinePair associate editor Katie Brown.

Katie: Hey, guys. Excited to be here today.

K: We also have staff writer Tim McKirdy.

Tim: Hi, guys, how’s it going?

FFC: Doing good.

FFC: And VinePair executive editor Joanna Sciarrino.

Joanna: Hi, everyone. Hi, Francis.

FFC: Hello, Joanna.

K: So, Francis, thank you again for joining us. You’re out on the West Coast? Are you doing some wine out there?

K: You have a passion for wine as much as you have a passion for film. I was just curious: Did one come before the other, or how did that work out?

K: Wow, you started living there, and now you’re surrounded by wine.

K: That’s great.

A: Was it Lindemans?

A: Amazing.

K: That’s awesome!

And the idea was it would be something for kids that were going to clubs. We were copying, remember the Pommery Pop?

A: I do, yeah.

K: Yes.

FFC: No, Science was not said in a nice way. When the kids at Jamaica High School called me Science, they went “SCIENCE, SCIENCE.” It was an insult.

C: Oh my God, no! That’s awful. Jokes on them.

FFC: It was to put me down. And in New York Military Academy, I was very skinny in those days, they used to call me Ichabod.

K: Ichabod Science.

K: In one year!?

FFC: Yeah, I went to six high schools. I went to Jamaica High School, University High School, Bayside High School, Great Neck High School, and New York Military Academy.

C: You had a very well-rounded education growing up.

K: Yeah, life experience is everything.

J: This is Joanna, one last question for you: What is next, in terms of expansion. Are there more properties in Oregon or any other regions that you’re interested in?

K: Well, Tim McKirdy who is on right now, he is our staff writer, but he also was a chef in Argentina for a couple of years.

TM: Yeah, I was out in Buenos Aires for a while in San Telmo. I believe you may be familiar with the neighborhood.

FFC: I love San Telmo. So when you say horse, you say gabacho?

TM: I say gabacho. I like to think of Italians, speaking Spanish.

FFC: Well, that’s exactly what it is! On the list of the top hotels in Argentina, the first one. What’s that great big, beautiful hotel?

T: The Faena? I think it’s the Faena, maybe. I’m not sure.

C: That was beautiful.

ALL: Thank you so much.

FFC: Bye bye. Nice to meet you.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article EOD Drinks With Francis Ford Coppola appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/eod-drinks-francis-ford-coppola/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/eod-drinks-with-francis-ford-coppola

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sammyhale · 7 years

Text

J2 MinnCon 2017 Main Panel

Jared to first time convention goers: “So, Supernatural is a show about two brothers. Sam and Dean-”

He talks about how Jensen and he have been able to play pretend on the show for 13 years and not sure how many people can say they’ve done the same.

Jared thanks the fans for letting him bring Sam to life. “I love Sam Winchester. I dig him. He’s kind of a nice dude.”

Jared: How many people here are Minnesota natives? We’re surrounded! Let’s run! They’re too cold to chase us! lol

Jared’s back hurts. Jensen: Is your back affecting your brain? Jared: Yes! My back brain.

Salmon Dean jokes.

Jared finds out a fan often has their last name mispronounced. Jared teases: Oh, boo hoo! How do you think I feel?

The weirdest pronunciation of Jensen’s last name is Ake-less. People have pronounced Jared’s last name as Padel-ski.

Jensen tells a story of a news guy who just gave up trying to pronounce Jared’s name lol.

Jared: Chad Michael Murray, who I met 17 years ago on GG. Y’all weren’t born yet. Jensen: I was born, but never heard of it.

Chad gave Jared the nickname Padawhacker lol.

Jared jokes: Don’t watch GG, you’ll see what a real man Dean can be. Jensen: I’m not even sure there was men on the show.

Jensen: If the script says that we eat pizza next week, the prop person asks us in advance for our order.

Jensen hates pickles. Doesn’t like condiments either. He knows when a pickle has been picked off. “Don’t play that with me, I know there was a pickle here.”

Jensen had to film a hot dog scene recently but didn’t want to eat lots of onions, so he had radishes chopped up to look like onions. Jared’s favorite part was food hanging from Jensen’s lip while talking and Alex couldn’t hold it together lol.

If Jensen could change something about Dean he would have them not make him eat as much!

Jared appreciates the differences between him and Sam, like some things that might annoy him.

Jensen: “I wish we used more gadgets. There are so many things in the back of the Impala that we never use. Obviously the big ticket item, the grenade launcher, finally got used. Next on the list is the grappling hook!”

Jensen wants Dean climbing up with a grappling hook and for Sam to be like, the door’s open...

Jared: There have been almost a dozen Supernatural episodes named after Led Zeppelin songs (makes crowd name them).

Jensen: I know I have all of Led Zeppelin’s vinyls at home. Jared: Because he’s old!

There’s a sign in the crowd that is supposed to say “We love Sam and Dean” but the N fell off so it says “We love Sam and Dea” - Jared: I can see this sign in the audience that says...We love Sam and the Drug Enforcement Agency!” lol

Fan asks: If you could relive any day, which day would you relive and why? Fans shout out: Tuesday!

Jensen about his twins being born: My wife is way cooler than me, she was cool as a cucumber. And on a lot of drugs!

During the birth, Arrow didn’t want to turn over. Jensen: She’s stubborn like her mother. They were C-section babies.

Jensen tells the story about how Jared knows him so well that he told him to check to make sure he had his passport when Danneel was about to go into labor with the twins and Jensen really had forgotten it. Jensen to Jared: I don’t know how you knew.

When they made it back to Austin, Jensen’s friend in the police department drove him through 7 stoplights so that he could make it in time for the twins being born.

Jared calls Gen and Danneel badasses :)

The day Jared wants to relive the most hasn’t happened yet. It’ll be the last day of filming Supernatural. Jared: I know after we film the last episode I’ll want to do it all again.

Jared on the last day of filming SPN: It’ll be us and hopefully Collins is there and whoever else, and it’s going to go by so fast.

Jared: The last day of filming is going to be hard and the next day will be sad but hopefully that’s many years from now.

Jared: “If Sam and Dean knew everything that would happen to them over 13 years, would they do it all over again? Yes.”

Jensen about fans who have seen every episode twice: “You complete me.”

Jared: That’s badass. Jensen: You’re badass.

Boys talking about when they knew they’d be good friends and brothers.

Jensen knew instantly that he and Jared would be friends. The first and only time they fought, he realized it would be a solid relationship. They got into a fight once in the early days of SPN and then sat down and said, “That can’t happen again” and it never did <3

Jared: The struggles are the moments in a relationship when you figure out whether it’s worth it to carry on or not. When something is tested is when you’ll see if it’s worth it.

Jared also knew that they had a lasting friendship the first time they got jumped.

Jared: “We got jumped and Ackles came back to make sure his boy was alright.”

The moment where Dean stuffed candies into his pocket was unscripted, Jensen just wanted candy.

Jared: The writers, directors, crew, etc, know that we really understand our characters, we’re not just trying to look cool.

Jensen about being allowed to change scripts. “There is a trust there, and we haven’t broken it, and we wouldn’t break it.” One of Jensen’s favorite parts of the show is the collaboration.

Boys say the best idea wins. Not a lot of room on the set for ego.

On anxiety and depression - Jared: Sometimes love and affection and support isn’t enough. You need someone unbiased. I proudly have therapy twice a week.

Jared: I had a day when I wasn’t sure I’d see the sun rise again. But I haven’t had a day where I feel like I’m tortured in years.

Jared on how to deal with depression and anxiety: Seek professional help, period. “I don’t have bad days anymore. Haven’t in years. Thanks for y’all’s support. Go get professional help. It works.

Jensen: I took a drama class in high school because I had to take an arts elective and didn’t want to sing and couldn’t draw.

Jared: I still have a lot of life to live. Though I do feel old and I have grey hair.

Jared about acting: If it sucks and you want to walk away, then walk away. But if it sucks and you feel like it’s worth it, keep going.

Jared’s oldest son, Tom, just started school this week. Jared: I remember my first day of kindergarten, and I wanted to talk to my son on his, too, so I FaceTimed him. Jared set his alarm for 4:30AM so he could.

Fan: Is there any bad guy or monster you’d like to face off against again? Jared: Ruby!

Jared, imitating his kids watching SPN in the future: “Daddy, why did Uncle Jensen kill Mom?”

Jensen would like to see Death back on SPN.

Jared: The best thing I learned to do in therapy, and am still learning, is to see everything for what it is.

Jared: Stop using the word mistake. You didn’t make a mistake you made a decision. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of great. Jared says that Jensen helps him with his perfectionism.

Jared says that whenever he feels negative about things Jensen lifts him up.

Jared mentioned that he struggles feeling good in his body and will tell Jensen that he feels fat and Jensen will tell him that he looks good.

Jensen: If you make a mistake you’re not losing. You’re either winning or learning.

Fan has a question for Jared. Jared pushes Jensen away. Jared: Every time I push Jensen, take a shot!

It took Jared two years to write his 40 page chapter for FDEWB. He finds writing very anxiety inducing.

Jared: The Padaleckis and the Ackles went to Turks and Caicos together a couple years back. Jared was writing the chapter during that vacation. Jensen was like: You know we are on vacation, right?

Jensen: He kept writing his chapter, so I walked away. Jared: In a little Speedo. And I was like, are those a roll of certs in your front center pocket? The boys are cracking up. Jensen: I have all sorts of sweet treats in my pocket.

Jared says if he writes more, he might just put it on Gen’s blog. He mentioned the blog as a way to continue writing.

Jared: “There’s a certain freedom that I feel when they call action. I’m free to be whoever I am.”

Jensen about getting through hard times: I go to family, friends, and if that doesn’t work I go to the gun range.

Jensen says he tries to be very practical about his expectations, where he is, where he wants to be, and sometimes he’ll make a list.

Jared: Pain is mandatory. Suffering is optional. Pain happens. Get through the pain and be the badass rockstar you are.

Random tweets after the panel: some penis jokes lol and lots of touching between the boys.

Info via: Fangasm, Kelsi, Rose, Zee, Sil’s livetweet list

#j2 #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #minncon #spnminn #panel sum #long post #shpost

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clonerightsagenda · 6 years

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Ok, let's finish this up tonight, now that I've gotten my cover letter ironed out. We're to Cherubquest, and I have a lot to say about the way John interacts with some of the meta stuff in this subact, so let's get started.

As they approach the MSPA terminal, John and Dave have another chance to talk. In John's tirade about Con Air, he reveals he thinks Dave is the true hero of the story. Meanwhile, Dave has repeatedly said he thinks John is the real hero. This is mostly due to both of them holding themselves to silly standards and then putting their friends on pedestals in comparison, and in the conversation, they both agree that's probably a little silly. The conversation closes with

JOHN: now, let's go write ourselves a happy ending!

which is a callback to something Jane said a long time ago.

Now, it's time for the conversation between Dave and Caliborn while John's trying to hack the narrative prompt. This log makes me laugh literally every time i read it. Part of its purpose was to relentlessly mock the theories that Dave would die because he's the most important tragic character ever, but the log also explores some meta stuff about Homestuck as a narrative and authorial control that ties into what I'm doing with John, even if he doesn't participate in the conversation. And I've got a lot to say about this, because I wrote my undergrad thesis on how Junot Díaz portrays the author as inevitably a dictator in The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Great book by the way, if you haven’t read it. It has the most kickass opening I have ever read.

In that novel, Díaz quips that writers and dictators have never gotten along because “like recognizes like”. The novel explores the politics of storytelling – how those in power shape or silence narratives – and it makes even its own narrator and author complicit. Any act of storytelling is inherently dictatorial to an extent. The person telling the story gets to choose what to include and what to leave out. Everyone listening is forced to accept their version of events. There's a big motif in the novel of gaps - things that the dictator has covered up, or things that the narrative is not willing or able to tell. The blank pages are a sign of suppression and violence, but they can also be an opening for someone willing to write on them.

Caliborn is a textbook example of putting the author into authoritarian. He seizes control of the narrative and attempts to retell the story in a way that fits his sensibilities. (Some conspiracy theories argue that he succeeded.) This extends way past his Homosuck doodles. As Lord English, he shapes and defines the alpha timeline, dooming any deviations from the path he has set to wither and die. Any story that doesn’t meet with his approval and match the one he’s telling is sidelined. Caliborn has been forcing everyone to be bit parts in his epic from day one.

(As a sidenote, this is a flaw I accuse Dave of having – of thinking of other people’s motivations and reactions as peripheral to his aims, like they’re props in the drama of his life. Of course Caliborn is much much worse (many teens are solipsistic) but it’s intriguing.)

I’m aware of the obvious catch here. After all, the two of us decided we didn’t like the way the story was going, so we barged in and grabbed it. Now we’re telling a version, and the characters are dancing to our tune. My conclusion from reading Díaz’s novel (though not mine alone; I wasn’t fast enough off the block to be the first person writing on this) was that to avoid being dictators, writers have to leave gaps. A motif within The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is the pagína blanco or blank page, something that hasn’t been filled in. The narrator leaves gaps, asks questions, and specifically says he cannot finish telling the story on his own. The readers have to piece things together or make assumptions, and different readers are likely to do that differently. The novel draws on so many different frames of reference, probably intentionally, that no one person will grasp it all.

So silence is one way to not impose your authority over a narrative, but then no narrative gets to exist at all. But the other option is openness, or multiplicity. I wrote in a gag about Caliborn’s superior headcanons, because he’s trying to make his vision overrule all while wildly misinterpreting the characters we know, but headcanons? Fanfic? Fandom in general? That’s how readers turn a dictatorship into a democracy.

As I was working on the outline for this project, I had to wrestle with what made Lord English a compelling villain. After all, Dave says it himself in his argument with grimbark Jade. He lurks on the periphery. He hasn’t done much to any of them directly. Technically, he’s the reason any of them exist. But he’s also what has them trapped in only one option, punishing any deviation even if it might make things better for them. He’s the reason for the dreambubbles being stuffed with dead dreamers who objectively did everything right. He’s the tyranny of the narrative given form.

I was rather pleased with this conclusion. Then Act 7 happened and a bunch of other people came up with the same idea as an explanation for why canon had to end the way it did, which made me feel far less original, not that I was very original to begin with. Did canon pull it off? That’s up to you to decide. Will we? Same thing. After all, if we want to avoid the same level of tyranny, at some point we have to back off. At some point, we – like all the other authors – have to die. Metaphorically. Hopefully, anyway.

How does this tie into John's arc? As I said earlier, John has a tendency to view things through the lens of fiction. When he gets the retcon power, he now has authorial control over the story. He can defy the alpha timeline, which is the narrative Caliborn/Lord English privileges. Dave makes a joke about Karkat's sickle plus John's hammer meaning they'll seize the means of production, but John does. He seizes the narrative, and he writes them out of the hole they're in. By saving Calliope, he defies Lord English's will and starts a chain reaction that will lead to his defeat on more than one front.

Specifically, he calls Calliope's name. At the very beginning of Homestuck, we're shown that you have to name the character before you can give them commands. We're told later that the cherubs' names are important, but it never comes up again. So I made it relevant again - maybe Roxy just saying Calliope's name wasn't enough, but armed with the narrative prompt and Breathy power, John can call her name loudly enough to bring her back from the dead. Plus, with his meta power, he fucks around with the comic proper - clicking links and appearing outside the panel frame. This story is his now. After viewing his life through the prism of a story, he's going to use that to rewrite it better.

Now that I have forced you to sit through a miniature version of my undergrad thesis, let's move on to post-Cherubquest content. As the Betas prepare to fight Jack, John stares up at the sky and is treated to a cloud-memory of his dead father. (Has Gill shared the sketch for this panel? It's ridic.)

EDIT: She once sent it to me. Here it is.

He's facing these memories now, even if they're not ones he enjoys. As a side note, you'll notice the next panel has everyone drawn in old school Homestuck style to show how far they've come. The thick lines are kinda unsettling tbh.

And finally, our most recent update. John is getting used to the fact that ok, he might be silly and dorky and not the traditional Platonic form of a hero, but he gets the job done. He's actually one of the characters who'll rely on the walkarounds a lot more for closure - be on the lookout for him to sort of settle some of his issues re: emotional repression, heroic ideals, and doomed timeline bias when we get there. Still, he's on his way! And he got to do some stuff on his own terms, instead of just being bossed around, so he's a lot happier, even if he is burdened by the harsh reality of their lives. The past may be brutal, but things are looking up.

#tlcstuck #dvd commentary #i'm caught up!#since i'm waiting on the kanaya one

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epacer · 4 years

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Story You May Have Missed

How San Diego can you get?!

Graduate of San Diego's Will C. Crawford High School, founding committee member of the San Diego Comic-Con, one of Jack Kirby's San Diego Five String Mob, and leader of Dr. Raoul Duke and His All-Human Orchestra, may I present my brainy professor pal -- Roger Freedman!!! Scott Shaw post

Roger Freedman, Class of 1969

UCSB professor recalls early days of San Diego’s premiere event

COMIC-CON 2019: PROFESSOR DOUBLES AS A COMIC BOOK HERO

You may know Roger Freedman as a professor of physics at UCSB. Look again.

On Page 8 of Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen 144 (1971), Dr. Freedman, with his long red hair and glasses, is standing with the San Diego Five String Mob, as the Guardian and Superman look on. “Dig those weird instruments they play!” Terry Dean tells the superheroes.

Little do the trio know that Dr. Freedman and his friends are actually in league with one of DC Comics’ most powerful villains – Darkseid! Egads!

Dr. Freedman became immortal in DC Comics canon because of someone he met at the first San Diego Comic-Con: the legendary Jack Kirby.

Mr. Kirby (1917-1994) co-created Marvel Comics’ Iron Man, Captain America, Black Panther, Fantastic Four, and later created DC Comics’ Fourth World stories, which featured Darkseid and his fiery world Apokolips.

From the start, San Diego Comic-Con had big names, even if the first convention only had 300 or so people attending, a modest dealers room with card tables and comics books and movie posters for sale, and only one room with speakers and movies.

“You didn’t see the multi-media stuff you see today,” Dr. Freedman, 66, told the News-Press last week in a meeting room at UCSB Broida Hall.

The first convention, then called San Diego’s Golden State Comic-Con, took place Aug. 1-3 at the U.S. Grant Hotel, and tickets cost $3.50 for three days.

Fans got their money’s worth. Besides Mr. Kirby, the first convention featured legendary sci-fi authors Ray Bradbury and A.E. Van Gogt, Dr. Freedman, 66, said. “That really impressed me.”

Earlier this month, Dr. Freedman spoke on panels about the convention’s history and the science of HBO’s “Game of Thrones” at Comic-Con International: San Diego – specifically the 50th San Diego Comic-Con.

It has grown exponentially from what Dr. Freedman experienced that first year.

Around 130,000 fans, many of them dressed as superheroes and villains and characters from other realms of fantasy and animation, walked around a convention that has grown beyond the San Diego Convention Center and taken over nearby hotels and the downtown historic Gaslamp Quarter.

Fans often wait for many hours to see the latest stars, especially in Ballroom 20 or Hall H, which seats 6,500 fans. There’s a long history of fans camping out overnight in grassy areas and parks to get into Hall H, where this year Sir Patrick Stewart talked about reprising his famous “The Next Generation” character in the upcoming “Star Trek: Picard” series on CBS All Access.

Only Mr. Kirby knew how big San Diego Comic-Con would get, Dr. Freedman recalled.

“Jack made the comment, ‘Some day everything is going to be at this convention. All the TV studios are going to be here. All the media is going to be here,’ ” Dr. Freedman said, recalling a story he heard from comic book and TV writer Mark Evanier. “”Mark’s response was, ‘Sure, Jack, whatever you say. Let’s go get lunch.’

“Jack was exactly right,” Dr. Freedman said.

The lifelong sci-fi fan recalled how much easier it was to get an autograph or talk with a star in those early years.

“You would see these guys sitting around the table or around the pool. You would say, ‘Hey, Jack, can you sign this book for me?’ ‘What was it like working with Stan Lee?’ ” Dr. Freedman said. “We didn’t know you weren’t supposed to do that.”

Dr. Freedman and his friends chatted with Mr. Kirby at the first San Diego Comic-Con, and convention founder Shel Dorf later called Mr. Kirby to ask if they could visit him at his Thousand Oaks home. The DC and Marvel Comics legend said that would be fine, and Dr. Freedman recalled one conversation in particular with Mr. Kirby.

“Jack said, ‘I can put anybody in a comic book,'” Dr. Freedman said. “Someone said, ‘How about us, Jack?'”

Mr. Kirby found a way with Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen 144.

“It’s us and Darkseid against Superman,” Dr. Freedman said. “I’m actually part of the DC universe.”

Dr. Freedman skipped San Diego Comic-Con in 1971 when it was at UC San Diego, but returned in 1972 and worked on the con’s program book when the event was at El Cortez Hotel. Besides Mr. Kirby, the special guests included Marvel Comics editor Roy Thomas and Looney Tunes cartoons director Bob Clampett.

Dr. Freedman said his first participation in the masquerade, the Comic-Con event that has grown into elaborate skits with effects and fans in impressive costumes, came in 1974. As an alternative to all the “Star Trek” fans at Comic-Con, he and his friends promoted fandom for “Gilligan’s Island” and went on stage to perform the 1960s CBS show’s theme song, complete with a prop for the line, “The tiny ship was tossed.”

“I had a plastic boat I threw into the audience,” Dr. Freedman said.

“For a while, I was the lead singer of a band that was only at Comic-Con. It was Dr. Raoul Duke and His All Human Orchestra,” Dr. Freedman said. “Dr. Raoul Duke” was a pseudonym for journalist and author Hunter S. Thompson.

Dr. Freedman said Comic-Con grew quickly in the 1970s, thanks to San Diego’s proximity to sci-fi authors and comic book talent and its draw as a vacation destination for the New York City-based comic books industry.

“I can tell you exactly where things got to get big, when the transition started from the original Comic-Con to today,” he said. “It was 1976 when there were 2,000 to 3,000 attendees. The word started getting out to Hollywood types that Comic-Con existed. They thought, ‘We have this movie coming out next year. We think people might be interested in it.’ “

The film was “Star Wars” (1977).

Behind-the-scenes crew sold promotional merchandise at a card table in the dealers room, Dr. Freedman said.

“If I had been smart, I would have bought every sticker and poster (in the dealers room),” he said. “I would be selling them now, and we would be having this conversation on my yacht. But I didn’t, so we’re not.”

Dr. Freedman, who earned his doctorate in physics in 1978 at Stanford University and became a teaching professor of physics in 1983 at UCSB (following a two-year post-doctoral program), continued to attend Comic-Con until the mid-1980s.

When he returned in 2009 for the 40th Comic-Con, he was surprised.

“I was pretty amazed by how large it had gotten,” he said. “I had heard second-hand, but I was pretty amazed by how large it had gotten. It was like 40 of the Comics Cons I remember happening simultaneously in the same room, which was awesome.”

Mr. Freedman, who came back in 2010 and this year, sees the future for San Diego Comic-Con as secure.

“The number of people who want to get in exceeds the number of people get in. It’s up there with Coachella or Burning Man tickets.” *Reposted article from Santa Barbara News-Press by Dave Mason of July 28, 2019.

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thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years

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Full Circle: Part 2

Full Circle Masterlist

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word count: 6121

Warnings/Tags: Winchester sister!reader, more angst, canonical character death

Summary: When a strange occurrence leads you back to Indiana, you find the past becomes resurrected along with a certain archangel. Unfortunately, you both become caught up in something bigger than you expected. Takes place between Seasons 5 and 6.

Author’s note: I have checked the The Hammer of the Gods transcript so many times at this point I’m surprised it’s not seared behind my eyelids when I close them. Taglists are at the end. If there's a line through a name, I tried to tag and it wouldn't let me. Sorry!

Special thanks to my amazing beta @sumara62 for her great feedback and for helping me grow as a writer and for @blondecoffeecake who pretty much feeds my soul (with not only sunshine but a whole lotta Dick). Both of you ladies are the best and your kind words and encouragement are always appreciated.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

<<Prev Chapter Part 2 Next Chapter>>

It was no wonder your instincts had been on high alert. Muncie, Indiana might not have been next door to Winchester, but it was in the same county.

Like Gabriel, a piece of that disastrous night still lingered, consistently trying to chime in on the edge of your existence. You’d become so accustomed to it being there it had melded into the clamoring din of emotions that rose whenever you toed the line to the past.

The fact you were about to drive straight over it had snippets piercing your consciousness.

“Am I the only one wondering what a place like this is doing… in a place like this?” You finished lamely, staring up at the fluorescent blue lights that had beckoned you in from the road. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw a gas station, let alone anything worthy of a hotel this nice.

Then again, you also couldn’t remember the last time you could see anything past the torrents of water raining down upon the car.

“Are you really going to argue with a place called ‘Elysian Fields’?” Dean demanded. He had a point. You could already tell by how well cared for the grounds and signs were that this was guaranteed to be the nicest stop of your lives.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too nice.

“Tell you what, if you’re so worried, we’ll go check it out and you can sleep here for the night,” he suggested, pulling into the spot closest to the door. You didn’t say a word as he turned off the engine, even though it was obvious to you there shouldn’t even be any parking left this close. The whole place should have been filled, but you knew telling him that wouldn’t make a difference. Not when it was dinner time and there were at least three states between him and his last meal.

He turned, eyes drifting conspicuously between you, to Sam, and back again, before his lips curled up into a sly smile.

You knew that look. It often preceded him doing something that made you wonder if murdering him would be an extra special sin because he was your twin, or if it still fell under ordinary fratricide.

“Last one out grabs the bags!” He announced before bolting from the vehicle.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Clearly, the five minutes he had on you had not given him a leg up in the maturity department.

Sam’s gaze met yours in the mirror, a burgeoning apology flashing through them. You glared. No freaking way was he about to do what you thought he was going to.

Before you could say “death wish” he, too, was making a break toward the hotel entrance.

Now if you had pulled up to this building nearly a year ago, you would have been more apt to walk inside.

You didn't expect to find the place lit up, but you also didn't expect it to look so run down. Storms had hit the area hard, leaving some damage around the outer edge of the structure. The tubing for both signs had been blown out, shards of glass glinting in the fading sunlight. A few of the sign panels attached to the building were missing, looking as if they’d been ripped clean off, though the one that flagged the hotel from the road was still intact.

You pulled into a familiar parking space, letting the engine idle as memories continued to leach across your vision.

It had been nearly an hour since your brothers went inside. You still hadn’t budged from where you sat, despite Dean’s attempts to lure you in with promises of pie so heavenly it put sex to shame. You’d almost given in, considering you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a piece, with either vice.

You also couldn’t recall the last time you’d had any peace, which is what ultimately had you resisting temptation.

Unfortunately, that meant remaining in the back seat of the impala which you had been stuck in for over a day now. You couldn’t tell if that’s what had you crawling out of your skin or if you were still stuck on how this place just didn’t belong.

You wished you had something other than your gut to go on, something tangible that could --

“I’m beginning to think you absorbed all the intelligence in the womb and that’s why your brother is a walking meathead.” You jumped, whirling toward the sudden voice to your right and the familiar figure you found lounging beside you had your hand freezing halfway to your gun. Amber glinted with amusement, and you were too caught off guard to notice that something else flickered in your guest’s gaze.

“Sam, on the other hand, has no excuse,” Gabriel finished, lips twitching as he propped a languid elbow up on the back of the seat, head resting casually against a closed fist as he idly regarded you.

“Jesus’ burnt and buttered toast, don’t do that!” You hissed, hand clutching at where your heart was frantically trying to burst through your chest. If it hadn’t come as such a shock, you would have been able to feel how full the car had become just moments before he said anything. The archangel’s presence had a way of saturating a place, and currently it was flooding the impala with the chaotic energy that often surrounded him.

“I like it when you talk dirty,” he said with a wink. “But I’m afraid the foreplay will have to wait. There might be a room full of gods and goddesses weighing the fate of your brothers as we speak.”

Well no wonder you didn’t want to go inside. There was a supernatural convention going on, and not the kind where you needed to be reminded putting a bullet in participants was “not helpful” and “murder.”

“All right,” you said taking a breath and running a hand through your hair. You took a moment to refocus yourself, picking up the scattered pieces of information you had so far. So there was a small gathering of deities inside, which you assumed meant nothing good for your brothers, regardless of whether they were accidentally involved or not. You had Gabriel on your side, however, which was a solid plus.

“So what’s plan A?” You asked, looking to him for guidance since you assumed he at least knew some of the crowd from his time as Loki.

He snapped his fingers and the impala roared to life. “You, my dear, get as far away from here as possible and let me worry about tweedledum and tweedledee in there.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” You asked, arching an incredulous brow. There was no way you were leaving your brothers behind; Gabriel knew better.

“Listen, we both know leaving your brothers unsupervised is just asking for trouble, but here’s a novel idea: how about you trust me,” he suggested, his eyes like liquid honey as they burned bright with something you couldn’t recognize. “For once, don’t argue with everything that comes out of my mouth simply because it’s coming from a pretty face,” he said, sliding a hand beneath his chin to highlight the area, “And continue listening to whatever small shred of self-preservation you received that the rest of your family clearly didn’t.”

Sarcasm colored his words, giving weight to the casual air he tried to maintain. You were caught off guard, mostly because he was right. You did fight him. A lot. Only it wasn’t entirely for the reasons he thought it was.

“And plan B if things go south?” You asked.

“For you? See plan A,” he answered, as if it were the most simple concept in the world.

“I’m not leaving them behind,” you insisted. “So either we’re going to have a change in plans or you’re going to have to break your promise.”

If there was one thing you had in common with the archangel, it was that neither one of you liked having your options taken away. You’re not sure if that was why the olive branch he offered after trapping you in TV Land involved a promise to never snap you anywhere without permission again, or if it was the fact you tended to break things on him when he did.

“Well, someone’s getting their heart broken tonight, because Deana-rino also made me promise I’d get you out of here safely,” he informed you. “And I have to say, that’s one of the smartest things I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.”

“Don’t worry. He’s a big boy. He can handle the disappointment,” you said sardonically as you reached out and pulled the handle to get out of the car. You had barely gotten the door open when Gabriel’s arm shot across you, hastily pulling it shut again.

Your breath hitched as his rippled across your lips, your eyes caught up in the storm in his gaze that rivaled the one outside. The energy in the car soared as the front of his jacket brushed against yours, heat pouring across the tiny gap between your bodies. Cas had always been a little cool to the touch, and you imagined angels were that way in general. Then Gabriel came along, blasting that expectation, along with many others, right out of the water. You could always feel his heat from a few feet away, but this close to you? He was an inferno.

“Don’t go in there,” he warned, his glib demeanor disappearing. There was so much behind the statement you couldn’t begin to tease it all apart. A heavy feeling formed in the pit of your stomach, and your intuition grasped at something still beyond your understanding.

“Gabriel,” you began, licking your lips nervously, “What do you know that I don’t?”

His brows drew together, something breaking through the intensity of his features.

“They’re going to summon Lucifer.”

You couldn’t remember much about the night you realized what that look had been. It could have been any number of states in the South West that you had landed in that particular time of year. You might have had dinner, or it could have been one of the many instances you didn’t feel like eating anything. Lying awake, staring at faded and dingy walls, too on edge to sleep, but too exhausted to do anything other than think had become too frequent a routine until everything blended seamlessly together into one long stretch of nightly nerves and regret.

The moment it clicked, however, that was etched into your mind with vivid clarity.

The chatter of a city that refused to quiet even well into the night. The warm breeze wafting through yellowed curtains, bringing with it the lingering smell of old tobacco and cheap air fresheners. The fact you were alone, for once, handling one in a never ending number of cases so your brothers could focus on getting the keys to the cage.

All those little details became locked into your mind the second you realize Gabriel had been afraid. That in and of itself was a revelation. You wouldn’t have thought that sentiment existed within his repertoire (or any archangel’s for that matter). Though what made it so memorable was the fact the angel hadn’t been scared of anyone. He had been scared for you.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, refocusing on the building in front of you. You killed the engine, your hand lingering on the door as doubts spilled through the large gaping holes in the puzzle you were facing. Were you actually being directed here or was it your own desire to put the past to rest causing you to see connections among coincidences? What were you even looking for in either case? There was nothing here for you other than ghosts, and they weren’t even the kind you could gank.

Not that you hadn’t tried.

Dean burst through the front door, and in the blink of an eye, Gabriel was back on the other side of the car. While your relief was more palpable, amusement sparked as you couldn’t help but be reminded of a similar experience. You were sixteen and had snuck out to meet Tony DeMarco, the resident bad boy from the latest school you were at. Dean had caught you both in the backseat of the kid’s beater and the moment Tony saw the look on your brother’s face, it was over. Less because your brother had arrived, and more because you soon found out that a jellyfish had a better chance at developing a backbone than your date did.

Though you imagined Gabriel’s was sturdy enough so he wasn’t in need of a fresh pair of pants.

The smirk fell from your mouth the moment you saw the line of people that came rushing out behind your brother.

“Psst! Dean! Don’t look at me! Act natural. Get in,” Gabriel half-whispered, half shouted out the window.

“Man there is nothing natural about this at all. I thought you were dead,” Dean fired back, looking like he had the worst case of mental whiplash.

You paused, eyes settling back on the angel with accusation. Apparently someone had left out a few important details. Like the number of other people trapped inside or the fact that someone had tried to kill him already.

Then again, with how often you wanted to put a blade in him, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“You think I’d give Kali my real sword? That thing can kill me!” Gabriel insisted.

You shook your head as you watched your brother and the angel go back and forth. It wasn’t like there was a situation inside that Sam was clearly still a part of, judging by his absence. But they should go right ahead and argue the finer points of whether or not Gabriel gave a shit about anyone else.

Spoiler alert: he clearly did if he was sitting in the backseat of the Impala instead of sitting on a sipping beach in Maui while being served fruity beverages by scantily clad women in hula skirts.

“... I can’t kill my brother,” Gabriel insisted and despite the cynical mask he wore, something around the rim of gold tugged at your chest. Like earlier, Dean seemed oblivious to the signs that maybe, just maybe, the archangel wasn’t as much of an ass as everyone thought he was.

“Would you two cut it out so we can figure out an actual plan?” You demanded, folding your arms over your chest. You must have been sitting outside Dean’s line of vision by how fast his head swung around. His eyes widened in surprise a moment before igniting with his anger.

“What the hell is she still doing here? You had one job, Gabriel…” Dean snapped before pointing at you. “You, get out of here. You,” he swung his finger to the archangel. “Make sure she does, and then maybe you could sack up and help us take down Lucifer… if it’s not too much to ask,” he sassed, before jumping back out of the car and storming inside.

The glass panels on the front entrance had been smashed, no doubt the work of one of the previous hunters. Since then, the gaps had been boarded up only to have someone else come along and cut a hole in it, big enough for someone to reach in and undo the deadbolt. At one point two separate set of chains had been used to lock it, the remnants of which lay strewn across the ground. One set was older and rusted, the other much newer and still retained some of its silver coloring.

You pushed at the handle, noting the way it swung open with ease, though it wasn’t that surprising to find that the sheriff’s department had simply given up trying to keep it secure.

Your phone buzzed angrily, causing you to pause for a moment in the threshold. You knew you should return Bobby’s calls. At least shoot him a text to say you weren’t about to be eaten by anything (that you knew of). Yet you found you couldn’t resist heading through the door anymore than you could before. At least then you were committed to helping your brothers.

Now, you probably just needed to be committed.

“You sure you want to do this?” Gabriel asked as you stepped into the front lobby. “You’re the only one not caught in Kali’s blood spell…”

“Which makes me the best candidate to go and get said blood,” you reminded him, silently closing the door behind you.

“Normally, I wouldn’t underestimate your abilities but… I’m not sure Kali swings that way,” he deadpanned, carefully eyeing around the corner before motioning the coast was clear. “And by ‘that way’ I mean human. Unless, of course, you're offering to be the hors d'oeuvres.”

“Why is operation honeypot the only plan on your mind?” You demanded. You knew he had sex on the brain more than the average being, but it never seemed to leak this much into his logic.

“Because sex and destruction are the two things she thinks most about?” He retorted.

“And what makes you the expert on her?” You continued, taking the lead. His sudden silence did not bode well, and you froze. You turned, fully expecting to be hip deep in entities who were not thrilled to find Gabriel re-crashing the party, extra guest in tow. The only thing there, however, was an archangel who seemed awfully intent on looking anywhere - to the side, down the hall, over your head - but you.

“There something I should know?” You leveled an even gaze at him as he, very casually, stepped around you.

“Oh, nothing, other than… we may have been a thing at one point.” He gave a nonchalant shrug as if he’d just informed you they’d gone to the same school rather than he hooked up with an entity known as “The Destroyer.”

“Do all your exes try to kill you or just the really special ones?” Your defenses snapped into place in the form of your humor. It didn't necessarily bother you to talk about how he’d dated someone. You’d probably be more worried if he hadn’t had any exes considering his extensive existence. It was the what that got beneath your skin.

Why you were surprised that goddesses were his thing, you’d never know. It was Gabriel. The angel likely had a harem of nymphs on retainer to entertain him in his downtime.

Provided those actually existed.

“What can I say? It’s been a slow century for all of us,” he said, gesturing with his arms as if to say what can you do? The motion was so wide, his body swayed slightly with it, and not for the first time you were struck with just how expressive he was for coming from a lineage with such a collective stick up its ass, they wanted to let the world burn on the off chance it might result in paradise.

“But, sweetheart, really, I got this. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and take a little vacation. I could see you… somewhere tropical? White sandy beaches, crystal waters…” he paused, brows raising as his gaze drifted lower. “An itty bitty bikini to tie it all together.”

He gestured exaggeratedly over the front of you and for a moment you were afraid you were going to look down and find yourself in said scrap of clothing. When you didn’t feel a sudden breeze, you rolled your eyes.

“Careful, or I might start to think you actually care about me,” you warned. He suddenly stopped, posture stiffening as he turned to look at you. Something glinted in his gaze that had everything hardening again, but whatever it was, you didn’t have time for it. You quickly moved around him, forging ahead without giving him the opportunity to respond.

Something crunched beneath your feet, causing you to halt your steps as you dropped the beam of your flashlight down to the carpeting. Hundreds of shards winked back at you, stretching along the length of the hallway. Judging by how evenly they were spread out, they could have only come from one source. You swung your light upwards, confirming something had, indeed, blown all the light fixtures.

By the way a thick layer of dust covered the carpeting but not the pieces, it had happened recently.

You continued forward, following a path you had walked too many times since that night. You became caught up in the minor inaccuracies where your mind had simply filled in superfluous details, to the point you found your fingers tracing idly over dark spatters along the wall before realizing what they were.

You’d been in such a rush to get out you hadn’t even noticed the mess that Lucifer made. Kind of like now. You were in such a hurry to move from one place to the next, though this enemy was far more difficult to outrun.

Then again, how did one escape themselves?

All you wanted was to not have to think about the long list of people you had failed. Some, like Gabriel, however, refused to be forgotten.

“I take back what I said earlier about you being the smart one.” You weren’t sure if the angel was baiting you, grumbling to himself, or just making idle conversation.

“How did she get your blood again?” You asked, smirking when he went quiet again.

You finally found the entrance to the stairwell, stride lengthening the last few yards. Gabriel increased his pace, cutting in front of you at the last moment. He held up a hand for you to wait before silently pulling the handle and cracking the door. He leaned closer to it, head tilting in concentration. One second passed. Then another. You held your breath as another few ticked by before, finally satisfied, he pushed open the door for you.

You ducked beneath his arm, head craning back as you stepped inside to peer up the small staircase.

“You know, New Zealand is amazing this time of year,” he persisted, body nearly brushing yours as he stepped in behind you. His energy was so palpable, likely from being confined in a much smaller space with him, but you also couldn’t help but notice how close he was standing. You forced yourself to take a step forward, eyes raising to the second floor entrance.

“I’m saving your ass too, you know,” you reminded, starting up the carpeted steps. Technically the plan was you all rode out of Dodge together. Or flew, in his case.

“Cupcake, I am the last person in need of saving,” he balked. “If anything, you should be worrying about saving your own behind - because it would be a tragedy for the world to lose such perfection.”

You glanced behind to find him a few steps below you, hands raised, thumbs extended and framing the area in question. This was how the game was played and on normal day, his antics tended to amuse and flatter you. Tonight, you were finding yourself less and less in the mood.

Maybe it was the prospect of going round two with the devil without a single trick up your sleeve. Maybe it was due to Carthage having spurred your brain into a frenzied need to prioritize your life, which was one giant reminder of how sorely lacking in things like relationships you were. Mostly, it was because you had no idea how in the hell were you were ever going to compete with a fucking goddess.

"Get a grip, Gabriel,” you said flatly.

“Do you take rain checks? Because as tempting as that offer is, my hands feel a little full at the moment,” he said, cocky grin spreading wide, and when that failed to elicit the usual response, he announced, “Last one up has to let the devil in the door!”

Gabriel playfully bounded around you and all you could do was stare at him as he skipped up the stairwell. His arms flew up in victory as he made it to the landing. He began to showboat, clearly not intending to stop the ridiculous display until you joined him up there. You tried not to give in, but it was useless. The archangels antics were too much and as your lips tugged up at the edges, a look of triumph illuminated his face.

He reached out, offering his assistance for the last few steps. Surprise slowed your reaction, and something flickered across his face at your hesitation. What the hell, you thought, reaching forward and taking his hand. You couldn’t tell if his touch was really as electric as it felt or if it was just your own ill-advised emotions rising up to make it feel more magical than it really was.

Instead of releasing you once you reached the top, his grip tightened. He gave a tug, spinning you around and into his arms as if you two were dancing. Your eyes widened, unsure of what was happening.

This wasn’t how you played the game.

“I’d think you’d really enjoy the Alps. They have some of the most amazing views… but mostly I can see you enjoying the privacy. Appreciating the quiet,” he said, voice lowering as he stared down at you. “What do you say?”

You would have gone anywhere with him… except that wasn’t what he was asking you to do. He was asking you to run. Alone.

“Why do you want me to leave so badly?” You inquired, curiosity overriding everything. You knew his charm was just an act. He was trying every trick in the book to get you out of there, and you hadn’t the slightest clue why.

“I promised your brother --”

“Bullshit,” you cut him off, and when you saw the edge of gold growing hard, you added, “And it would be a shame to break such a distinguished nose. Again.”

He released a puff of air through said nose, eyes glowing with amusement. His lips turned up into a smile, one of the few you’d ever seen that didn’t have an undercurrent of sass or smugness lacing it.

“If you don’t know the answer to that, sweetheart, you haven’t been paying attention.” Despite the cavalier drawl, something softened in his gaze. There was a quality about him that seemed almost sad, which didn’t fit with anything you knew about the ex-trickster.

In that moment, he looked far more human than he’d ever seemed and far far more approachable. Better yet, he was suddenly well within your reach.

Your lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them in a nervous gesture. Gabriel’s eyes immediately dropped, taking in the movement. When they looked back up amber seemed a little darker, those shadows melting away to something a little warmer in sentiment.

Feeling emboldened, you leaned closer. The movement was agonizing as you made sure to give him ample time to draw back in case this was not his intent. The hand at your waist slipped around your back, drawing the rest of you closer in tandem with your face. You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, warmth spreading from the contact, down through your chest.

At the last moment, his head turned just enough to avoid the kiss. You blinked, confused, and suddenly feeling very foolish.

“It’s too late,” he breathed, everything from his voice to his muscles growing taut as he released you. That’s when you felt it. A slow building sense of dread, a familiar, looming presence that left your insides cold.

Then the screams began.

You blinked, clearing your thoughts, only to find yourself standing at the entrance to the ballroom. You hadn’t even realized you’d come this far. You turned back, eyeing the path you’d just taken. Walking through the darkness on complete autopilot seemed like a good way to get yourself killed.

Your hand came down on the doorknob, fingers vibrating with a combination of your nerves and newfound uneasiness. This room symbolized more than just a failure. This was a pivotal moment during the apocalypse: the beginning of the end.

The room had been in the file. You’d skimmed through the photos, stopping when you caught a glimpse of the hallway that led there. The photographer seemed fairly thorough, but it wasn’t the type of thing you wanted to see in a picture. You needed to look at this first hand. You’d been trying without success to shut the door on this part of your life. Maybe coming full circle would help you seal it off for good.

You took a breath, slowly releasing it before giving the doors a push.

“Y/n, Wait!”

You were too caught up in that driving need to find your brothers, to get to them before the devil did and protect them, that you didn’t pick up on how odd Gabriel sounded as he called your name. You backtracked to the main lobby where you paused, unsure of which way to go.

By the time the archangel appeared in front of you, you were positive there was more adrenaline than blood flowing through your system. You were too startled to even make a noise, your body stumbling back, convinced Lucifer had just popped in to give you a more personal greeting.

“Fuck, Gabriel!” You hissed as he grabbed your hands to prevent you from pitching backward.

“I would love to after we take care of the elephant in the room,” he said dryly, wincing as an awful lot of something sounded like it was splattering down one of the adjacent hallways. “... again, not referring to you, Ganesh.”

You went to take off after the noise when the he kept a firm grip over you.

“We have to help them,” you insisted. You could only imagine what Lucifer would do to your brothers if he caught them - what he would do to Sam to be let in. You couldn’t let that happen.

“Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?” He asked.

“They’re my brothers,” you reminded, desperation causing your voice to come out much softer beneath the strain of the sentiment. “Gabriel, please…”

You would never forget the way gold glowed with a dissonance of determination and what you later would recognize as resignation.

“Alright, kid. Let’s do this,” he told you.

You let out another string of swears, squeezing the lockpicking tools hard enough in your hands to leave marks. You couldn’t get the damn doors to budge. You’d tried pushing, pulling, checking for deadbolts, something barring the inside, furniture, anything that would indicate why you couldn’t get it to move.

When that proved fruitless, you’d done your best to pick the lock. Well that wasn’t true. You had picked it, having heard the latch between them release only to find you hadn’t actually solved the problem. The only thing you hadn’t tried was brute force which was something your brothers had always been better at than you.

You stepped back, placing the end of your flashlight in your mouth before you shook your body out. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to do this. You were terrible at these things. The last time you tried, you’d fractured the right side of your foot all the way down through the end and Dean insisted on calling you twinkle toes for two months straight.

You had to try, though. This was the last place you’d seen the angel. Well, outside of the ridiculous guest spot he’d had in Casa Erotica, although honestly, you tried your best to forget that even existed. It stirred up too many mixed feelings you had no intention of ever exploring.

“Are we seriously going to do this?” You asked, watching as Sam fed the dvd into his laptop. What you really meant was were you really going to watch it together.

Because nothing said family bonding like a good old fashioned porno.

While it didn’t surprise you this would be what Gabriel left as his legacy, it didn’t exactly please you either. You were already coming to terms with the realization you cared more for the angel than you should have, let alone accept the abysmal chances that you would ever see him again.

“We are seriously watching a fucking porno,” you muttered, your anger overshadowing any discomfort as you watched Gabriel intently feeling up some tall blonde chick who, like Kali, you couldn't hope to measure up to. Thankfully, it didn’t last long before he turned toward the camera, ripping off his mustache and revealing his intent.

“Sam, Dean, if you’re watching this with y/n, your family is way more dysfunctional than I’ve given you credit for.”

You snorted as Dean muttered, “Yeah, thanks to you, pal.”

“Sadly, if you are all watching this, it also means I’m dead.”

You knew it. Part of you had spent the entire ride on edge, waiting for him to pop in and do his usual stress test on your heart, but you had felt something shortly after you’d left. There was an unmistakable feeling that the world had grown a little smaller, as if there was suddenly a whole lot less in it.

Your nose gave a tell tale itch. You did your best to blink back your emotions, covering a slight sniffle by rubbing at your nose. If your brothers noticed your reaction, they didn’t mention it. Sam’s demeanor simply became a little more deflated while Dean stood stoically staring at the screen.

You did your best to focus as he shared the way to trap Lucifer. The fact that there was a way in and of itself should have been a relief, but you were too busy trying to shut everything down. You couldn’t afford to lose it now, not with everything that rested on all of your shoulders.

“Can’t say I’m betting on you boys, but that sister of yours…” He turned slightly, pointing at you through the camera and winking. “You’re something special, sweetheart. Though the chemistry was undeniable, we just weren’t meant to be. I was planned out to perfection while you… well, you weren’t in the plans to begin with.”

Your brothers exchanged a look before glancing back at you. You were too tapped out to react. A numbness filtered through your system, and you did the only thing you were capable of at the moment and filed away what he said for later processing.

As if sensing this, Dean put his arm around you, drawing you into his side before turning back to the video.

“That’s right, cupcake. You are completely off the books. In all this divine grand planning, you weren’t supposed to exist and yet, here you are,” he said making a grand sweeping gesture with his hand. “Which just goes to show you, not everything is set in stone and maybe, just maybe, you guys have more help out there than you realize.”

You slammed your foot down a final time, more in frustration than from any planned intent. Where was your help now? In fact, where the hell had it ever been? Whoever or whatever was rooting for you apparently had a lag in their cosmic connection considering help only ever arrived after the fact: after Cas had been snapped to bits, after Bobby’s head had been twisted clear round his neck, after Lucifer had dropped the Impala on you, pinning you beneath the back tires so all you could do was watch as your brother’s face was turned to pulp, blow by bloody blow, as your world slowly faded to black.

You knew it wasn’t Sam, but it was his body and those weren’t the types of images that could simply be unseen. You could live with them, however, because all those people were still alive. Where was your help when Jo saved your brothers from hellhounds? When Ellen stayed behind to make sure the bomb went off? When Gabriel was the only thing that stood between you and the devil?

If anything is really out there, now would be a good time to step in.

You didn’t actually expect a response, but you still couldn’t help giving a final, petulant boot to the bottom of the door. It was the failures that always got to you. Which is why you desperately wanted to be able to bury this one.

Enough to actually contemplate shooting the shit out of the locks to see if that would make any difference.

You were about to pull the trigger when a soft click sounded, the door furthest from you swinging open slightly.

About freaking time.

Next Chapter>>

Everything tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @wayward-mirage @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @ludwigs-a-monster @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty

Full Circle: @melodyhiddleston

#Gabriel x reader #Gabriel #reader insert #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #rabbit writes #Full Circle

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themyskira · 7 years

Text

THAT Wonder Woman script, part 1 of what the fuck did I just read

Around 2005, Joss Whedon, who has recently been attached to an upcoming Batgirl movie, was hired to write a Wonder Woman movie that never got off the ground.

In an interview, Whedon described the movie he’d envisioned thusly:

She was a little bit like Angelina Jolie [laughs]. She sort of traveled the world. She was very powerful and very naïve about people ... [a]nd ultimately her romance with Steve was about him getting her to see what it’s like not to be a goddess, what it’s like when you are weak, when you do have all these forces controlling you and there’s nothing you can do about it. That was the sort of central concept of the thing. Him teaching her humanity and her saying, OK, great, but we can still do better.

Some years after the project got canned, a 2006 draft script was leaked, and proved to be every bit as terrible as Whedon described and worse. I skimmed it a few years back, and with all the renewed talk around it in the wake of the Batgirl announcement I foolishly decided to try to actually read it for real.

And oh, do I have some notes.

We open with the following text:

IN THE TIME OF THE ANCIENT GREEKS, THE MOST POWERFUL WARRIORS ON EARTH WERE THE AMAZON WOMEN. PROUD, MIGHTY AND CUNNING, THEY WERE NEVER DEFEATED IN BATTLE.

LEGEND TELLS THAT ARES, THE GOD OF WAR, GREW JEALOUS OF THEIR POWER AND HAD THEM IMPRISONED, THEIR WRISTS BOUND IN MYSTICAL CHAINS — CHAINS THAT ROBBED THE AMAZONS OF ALL THEIR POWER.

SHAMED AND IMPERILLED, THE AMAZON QUEEN HIPPOLYTE PRAYED TO ATHENA, GODDESS OF WISDOM, FOR DELIVERANCE FROM THEIR SLAVERY.

THE AMAZONS VANISHED FROM THE EARTH.

Okay, so… there are already a few things I’m not a fan of here.

One: right from the outset the Amazons are being defined solely as warriors. All of their qualities are linked to their martial prowess — “proud, mighty and cunning”. The Amazons of Wonder Woman comics have always been powerful warriors, but it’s a skill they’ve cultivated alongside their prowess as scientists, makers, artists and priestesses. I’ve found that when Wonder Woman writers choose to define Amazons as fighters to the exclusion of all other interests, the result is a very militant, xenophobic and primitive people with a distinct whiff of straw feminism.

Two: really, Joss? Of all things, you had to keep the “Wonder Woman loses her powers when her bracelets are chained?” bit?

Three: “the Amazons were the best until things went wrong and they had to pray their way out of it” this origin story is boring as shit.

But enough of the Amazons. It’s time to meet the real hero of the story. The one we’ve all been waiting to see. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for…

EXT. SKY - DAY.

We see the roiling grey fury of a storm — and an old twin engine prop plane roars into frame from above us.

She bucks bravely amidst the wind, rain and crackling flashes of lightning. We can hear her practically shaking apart.

INT. PLANE - CONTINUING.

Inside, the noise is even worse. Boxes of cargo, most with a red cross, shake and pitch with the plane.

The pilot holds the steering column as it bucks. Maybe 30, kind, determined eyes in a workingman’s face.

…LAAAAAAAME DUUUUUUCK!

I’m not being a smartass, that is Steve’s actual call sign, which he uses as he shouts into his radio trying to hail his guys on the ground. He’s getting only static in return.

STEVE This is Lame Duck, I got a force gazillion hurricane in my face! Visibility is zero and my readings are… […] …they’re shot! My instrument panel’s having serious emotional issues; I am lost at sea.

As the storm batters his plane, the voice of a South African bloke called Ben crackles through on the radio to advise Steve that he may be heading towards some bad weather. Ba-dum-tsh.

Steve deadpans at Ben and then the communications cut out with a “scorching pop” and lightning hits the left propeller. Being the hero of this story, Steve “stubbornly” hangs on, but the plane is bucking wildly and there’s no mistaking it— he’s going down.

Then suddenly he’s out of the storm, the rain and the clouds clear and spread out below is a lush, pristine island. Our rugged hero shakes off his bewilderment and manoeuvres the plane towards a river, “the thing most resembling a landing strip”.

It’s a messy landing; the plane skids along the river and slides out of control down a hill before hitting a couple of big trees mere inches ahead of a near-bottomless ravine. Steve’s wrist is broken and one leg is caught under boxes, and as he’s trying to figure out his next move, there’s a thump on the roof.

The door is tugged clean off its hinges. A silhouetted girl stands in the newly-made opening.

CLOSE ON: THE GIRL.

To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow. She wears burnished metal bracelets on both wrists, wide and intricately detailed. Her shift is of another era; we’d call it ancient Greek. She is barefoot.

BARF. Just go back and compare this to the way Whedon describes Steve — “Maybe 30, kind, determined eyes in a workingman’s face.”

When Whedon introduces Steve, the main thing he seems to want us to take away is that this is a Good Man trying to do right. When he introduces Diana, the actual titular hero of this movie, he just blathers like a hormonal teen about how fucking hot she is, except not just hot because who could use such crass words to describe a woman as spectacular and— and elemental as she?! She is nature itself, friends, wild as the luminous flora! her dark hair a waterfall! the taut curvaceous girl of my manic pixie dreams!

Like. Are you even listening to yourself, Joss?

Anyway, The Girl looks about curiously; apparently she’s never seen anything like a plane before. “It’s hollow…”

She’s wary when she notices Our Hero, who babbles a bit to the tune of ‘hey do you speak English, could you get to a phone and call for help, my leg is pinned’, before The Girl casually pulls the boxes off him one-handed, studies him for a moment and concludes, “You look horrible.”

Not because he’s injured, mind. It’s because of his stubble. She’s thoroughly perplexed by it, since as we know gender is a strict binary and women never have facial hair of any kind especially since obviously Amazons have a strictly 21st century Western concept of female beauty except oh wait.

Then the realisation hits her.

She reaches for his face, touches it. Realisation breaks her face into a wondrous grin.

DIANA You’re a man.

STEVE Wow. No gettin’ anything past you…

But he’s as mesmerised as she, neither of them moving as her fingers sensuously trace his face.

THE ROMANCE. She is captivated by his masculinity, he belittles her, and they are both entranced.

They trade names, the plane lurches ominously over the ravine, and Diana scoops him up and tosses him to safety. “You feel safer now?” she asks, as he lands hard on the grass.

ANGLE: STEVE has fifteen sharp, gleaming spears in a semicircle around his head.

They are held by fifteen women, armoured and helmeted in the greek style. Backlit enough to be dark and almost inhuman.

STEVE Nnyeaaybe…..

Ha-ha! Champagne comedy!

Also: what’d I tell you? Militant, xenophobic and primitive. How long d’you think before the straw feminism rears its head?

Next scene! Steve is marched into the Amazons city, accompanied by Diana and encircled by a grim company of Amazons. Steve’s hands are bound with rope, the other end of which is held by “the enormous, austere HEPHESTIA, captain of the guard”.

Steve tries to ask if he can use their phone, and Hephestia responses by yanking the rope and sending him sprawling. Diana rushes to help him up, but Hephestia ignores him entirely, admonishing, “It is not to be spoken to.”

YEP HE WENT THERE. WHEDON’S AMAZONS ARE ANGRY IRRATIONAL MAN-HATERS WHO REFER TO MEN AS “IT”.

Hephestia goes on to berate Diana for breaking the “First Law”, telling her that “By all rights your fate should be his” and “You should have killed it.”

Fuck’s. Sake.

Then Steve gets his first sight of the city.

THEMYSCIRA. It’s a vision of a city, nestled in the lush green hills. Greek in many aspects, it has an organic look that is particular to the Amazons — not just straight stone columns.

More than a hundred women are visible, walking, talking, weaving, forging — there is an arena near the bottom with women training at games and swordplay.

Hey, look at that. First indication so far that the Amazons are something other than primitive sword-wielding thugs.

STEVE (continuing; whisper) Where the hell am I?

DIANA This is Themyscira. Home.

STEVE Whose home?

DIANA The Amazons.

STEVE (looking at her) The Amazons are a legend.

DIANA We are? (considers) Good. We should be.

GOOD LORD THIS IS TERRIBLE. And what the fuck is with Diana’s casual arrogance here?

They walk through the city, attracting stares wherever they go. A friend of Diana’s, Aethra, hurries over and falls into step with her. After ascertaining that, yes, this is a fabled man-creature and they are taking him to the Queen, what do you think her first question is?

She falls into step, whispering into Diana’s ear. Diana looks briefly shocked.

AETHRA (continuing) Well, I would’ve. While you can…

SHE ASKS IF DIANA FUCKED HIM.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE SHIT.

Cut to the Queen’s chamber.

HYPPOLYTE is every inch a queen: noble, beautiful, thoughtful. She is middle-aged, but very much in her prime.

Apparently being attractive is a prerequisite for being a queen now. Also, Whedon has trouble settling on a spelling for her name, as we’ll see.

She is approached by CIRCE. An older woman, Circe is honest and humble, but her eyes pierce well beyond common sight.

(No, it’s not that Circe. I don’t know why Whedon gave her the name of one of Diana’s most prominent rogues.)

CIRCE The Guard returns, my Queen.

HIPPOLYTE Is it what we thought?

CIRCE (nodding) A man.

HIPPOLYTE All this time… and the Gods still mock us. Alive?

CIRCE (nods) Hephestia would have killed him on the spot, but… she was not the first to find him.

This news tightens the corners of Hyppolyte's mouth.

Groan. Yes, Hippolyta, the gods are mocking you by inflicting man on you. That is what’s happening now.

Wait, no, I take that back. Somebody is definitely mocking you right now.

Cut to the throne room. Hippolyta’s on her throne, Steve on his knees before her under Hephestia’s guard. Diana stands by him, and women crowd about the room.

Hippolyta binds Steve with a familiar-looking lasso and interrogates him. The one thing she wants to know: if they fix his plane and help him on his way, will he promise never to speak of the Amazons to anyone? Steve says he won’t, but when Hippolyta presses — what if you were offered money? power? what if you were tortured? — he admits that he could not stay silent if his friends or family were threatened.

Anyway, it doesn’t actually matter because it turns out that Hippolyta was only exploring this line of questioning to demonstrate why there is no solution other than to kill Steve (and I guess so that we could see what a Pure and Heroic Hero Steve is). It’s his life against thousands of Amazons, which is why the First Law says that any man who sets foot on the island has to die, obviously.

At which point Steve gets his self-important on and is like ‘UM EXCUSE ME YOUR MAJESTY but if I don’t get the supplies on my plane to the refugee camp I was headed for, then a fuckton of sick and starving refugees will die, YOU MONSTER.’

Hippolyta considers this, and asks him what he’d say if she could guarantee that the supplies get to their destination — after she murders him. Steve stares at her a moment, then: "Deal.”

So Diana’s like “MOTHER NO!” and Hippolyta is like “MOTHER YES”. Except then for some reason she instructs Circe to take Steve away and feed him and tend to his wounds because I guess she’s too tired to murder him tonight, no need to rush the process.

Then Hippolyta kicks everyone out so she can argue with her daughter.

HIPPOLYTE We came here to escape the tyranny of men.

She holds out her hands as she speaks and Diana places hers begrudgingly in them — Hippolyte turns them palms up as the light glints off Diana’s bracelets.

HIPPOLYTE (continuing) Your wear the symbols of our subjugation but you don’t know what it was like. When these were bound, and we were powerless. The pain, the shame… no Amazon will ever be bound again. […] Steve Trevor may be an honest man but he connects us to a world more brutish and mad than the one we fled. […] He cannot peaceably stay and he cannot be allowed to leave. Do you not see?

DIANA (eyes locked on Steve) I see only murder.

HIPPOLYTE (sees Diana staring) Your eyes are clouded.

DIANA They are clear, mother. Maybe for the first time.

She starts to leave.

HIPPOLYTE I envy the luxury of your clarity. (Diana stops) I am Queen of Themyscira. My responsibilities weigh heavily on me. It’s simpler for those who’ve never had any.

so yeah basically this scene is all about Our Hero and how his heroic heroism puts Diana on a path to becoming Wonder Woman. She’s been living a life of blissful naivety on her island, and then this man comes along and is ready to die so that innocents may live, while Diana’s isolationist people would rather kill to save themselves, and in an instant her eyes are opened “maybe for the first time” and GOSH AREN’T YOU LUCKY A MAN CAME ALONG TO TEACH YOU HOW TO BE A HERO.

Nighttime now. Steve is gloomily pacing his ‘cell’, which is actually a big, comfortably furnished room. Diana, doing a Batman, steps out of the shadows behind him.

DIANA Why don’t you care?

He turns, not particularly surprised to see her. She comes close as she talks. There is an attraction between them that neither of them mentions — or possibly even knows about.

UGH GO AWAY JOSS.

She wants to know why he’s so willing to throw away his life. She wants to know about his world, and what it is he believes matters more than saving his own skin. Steve is uncommunicative; he doesn’t know what she wants him to say.

DIANA (thrown) I… I wonder if there’s a reason. For your coming. Some sign, something for me to learn.

STEVE So my imminent death is, wow, all about you. You know I really should rest up, though, for the dying — why don’t [we] do this another time?

DIANA But we—

STEVE (ushers her out) I’ll call you. I mean it. Let’s keep in touch.

This is a recurring theme in their interactions. Diana reaches out, trying — often somewhat ignorantly or naively — to understand or to help, and Steve bites her head off for being a spoiled, selfish little princess who knows nothing about the real world.

Speaking of which!

DIANA I don’t like your manner.

STEVE And I don’t feature spending my last night on earth playing Discovery Channel for some bored debutante.

DIANA I’m just trying to understand.

STEVE Understand what?

DIANA You. Your world.

STEVE You can’t.

DIANA “Can’t”?

STEVE Can’t. Is that another new word for you? Means ‘are unable to’.

DIANA But you won’t even—

STEVE You and I have nothing in common.

He crosses to the banquet table.

STEVE (continuing) Has there ever been a day when you didn’t have everything you wanted? Have you ever been hungry? (chucks the pear to her — hard) Been cold? Worked twenty hour days underground for no pay, been spat on, stepped on, shot at… (approaches her again) Your mom is Queen of Crazy Town but she’s right to be scared. You wanna stay as far away from the real world as possible. They’d eat you alive, Princess.

DIANA I am an Amazon.

STEVE Yeah yeah, bend steel with your bare hands… in my world, you wouldn’t last a day.

UGH.

So Diana wanders out of Steve’s cell and towards Athena’s temple, “lost in unhappy thought”. Aethra catches up with him and — you guessed it — SHE STILL WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT STEVE’S DICK.

AETHRA (behind her) At least tell me you looked at it.

Aethra wants to know why Diana comes to Athena’s temple every night. What is it she asks the goddess for?

DIANA I… I ask what to ask. To know… what I want, to be content… (quiet passion) I am not what I should be. I can be more, I was meant to be more, I know it. To do something worthy. (looking off) I ask Athena what that is.

AETHRA And you think she’s answered.

DIANA (turning, urgent) Can it be coincidence? That a man should drop straight from the sky after all this time?

So, if we’re following this logic… Diana asks the goddess “what [she needs] to be content” and to be the person she was “meant to be” — and the goddess responds by dropping a man in her lap.

Joss Whedon is such a Great Feminist Writer, y’all.

Also, Aethra’s response to this?

AETHRA (smiling) You really think you’re the only woman on the island thinks that was her prayer being answered?

Because evidently Whedon’s Amazons are deeply heterosexual and desperate for cock.

Diana confesses her unease, and Aethra gives her some completely meaningless advice.

AETHRA Then don’t be a child. Don’t ask for guidance, for permission; don’t ask for anything. Tell Athena what you want. Maybe then you’ll hear her reply.

yes because making aggressive demands of the gods and failing to observe proper respect has always historically gone well for the greeks.

Diana spends the entire night praying. In the morning, a falcon (which isn’t Athena’s bird, but who cares about research) alights in front of her and she stares at it.

Our Hero is led into the royal hall, bravely prepared to meet his death. As Hippolyta prepares to mete out his sentence, the proceedings are interrupted by a stampede of animals. Screeching falcons swoop into the hall and land on Hippolyta’s throne. Huge snakes carve a path through the crowd, followed by a pair of giant panthers and no I have no fucking idea where Whedon is going with this either because he never follows up on it at all.

Diana enters behind the panthers, cloaked and hooded, and announces that she is invoking the “Right of Trial”.

STEVE Trial by what?

Diana pulls off her robe in one swift motion.

AETHRA Combat, of course.

Beneath is the outfit: the burnished eagle breastplate, the deep red of the cloth bodice, the skirt, a greek’s, leather strips low in the middle and cut higher at the hips, dark blue with diamond-shaped silver inlays. The gold sandals matching the wristbands and tiara. A sword is on her hip, which she pulls, pointing at Steve with it.

DIANA (to the assembled) This is the law. If I can defeat Themyscira’s greatest warrior in single combat, judgement on this man will be mine to render. He will live, return to his world… and I will go with him. […] If this world of his is truly mad, I would know why. I would know what it is we all fear so terribly. (pointedly, to Mom) I consider it… my responsibility.

And who is Themyscira’s greatest warrior? Well, I think we all know the answer to that.

So Diana has to fight her mother to save Steve’s life.

But it’s more fucked up than that, because Joss has made Hippolyta the symbol of all of Themyscira’s insular, xenophobic, backward tradition, while Steve represents the hero Diana aspires to be — all-American, prepared to sacrifice himself to defend the helpless.

So in practice this reads as Diana choosing to reject her people’s (primitive, wrong) culture and embrace the (good, heroic) American Way.

Anyway, Hippolyta hefts her sword and they fight. Steve continues to be a smartass.

AETHRA This must seem strange to you.

STEVE No, my mom and I did this all the time.

The fight is relentless — “In Amazon training,” Joss tells us, “they don’t teach retreat”. What with the Amazons being ruthless savages and all. Hippolyta gradually starts to get the upper hand, sends Diana to her knees and brings her sword down “with all her might” on Diana’s shoulder. It shatters on Diana’s skin.

For a moment, only the clatter of the shards on stone.

Then Diana is back up in a flash, swinging at her mother with brutal force — Hippolyte blocks and pulls Diana close.

HIPPOLYTE In his world, it may not be the sword that will break. You will be weakened, and reviled, daughter: death is out there. Here you are safe, you’re strong, you are a princess and there they will make you nothing now will you yield?

Diana looks at her with intensity, but no malice.

DIANA I can’t.

HIPPOLYTE. (quietly) I know.

She steps back, throws her broken sword down. […] Hyppolyte grabs Diana to her and embraces her fiercely, both women exhausted and emotional.

Hyppolyte kisses her head, takes it in her hands, inches from her face. She whispers ungently:

HIPPOLYTE (continuing) Remember who you are. They will take everything from you but that.

…aaaaand I guess that’s that, then? Hippolyta breaks her sword on Diana’s shoulder, fights her to a standstill, and then, “give up now? what, you don’t? oh okay well I guess I give up instead, then”.

Steve and Diana fly out. Joss takes the time to tell us that Diana is wearing “a simple white tunic (which on her is anything but simple)” which oh my god keep your boner to yourself mate.

Also let’s just pause to note that at this point Diana’s only motivation beyond a vaguely-articulated desire for direction is The Boy. In most modern versions of Wonder Woman’s origin, Steve is a catalyst rather than the motivating factor in Diana’s journey forth into Man’s World. Rucka’s Amazons recognise the gods’ hand in Steve’s arrival and realise that greater forces are on the move; this spurs them to choose a champion who will be both ambassador and protector. Pérez’s Diana actually wins the mantle of champion and the responsibility of defending the world against Ares before the war god’s machinations bring Steve’s plane down.

Whedon’s Diana has no mission or calling. She just met a boy and decided to follow him home.

#whedon does wondy #this is long and painful and i am sorry #wonder woman

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shinewithalltheuntold · 7 years

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So, I had the pleasure of attending the Once Upon a Time panel at Phoenix Comicon today. Sean Maguire, Karen David, and David Anders. I expected to be entertained. I did not expect to almost ruin my makeup because they made me laugh so hard I cried.

Seriously, I cannot overstate how flipping funny these three were together. And adorable and thoughtful and just...this was one of the best panels I have been to in a long time - which is saying a lot because I’ve been to some really good panels.

A few highlights Many highlights under the cut because OMG they were just so entertaining:

- Karen David trying to come up with a way not to spoil people in the audience who hadn’t seen the finale yet (the mod rightly pointed out that anyone going to a panel without having seen the finale of a show knows what they’re getting into. Still, Karen was adorable about it.)

- David made a comment about Sean looking cooler with his bow and arrow than Stephen Amell and the audience all gasped. David took mock offense because they were at a Once panel and not an Arrow one. He then randomly dropped references to Stephen Amell for the rest of the panel. So funny.

- Sean of course got asked about Robin’s death. He said he was obviously disappointed about it, but emphasized that an actor’s job was to serve the greater story and that as a writer he understood that (didn’t know he was a writer so that was an interesting tidbit.) He sounded more zen about the whole thing than the interviews I read at the time - understandably so.

- He then made joking references to Robin’s death off and on, including that if Robin had been in the musical episode the only thing he could have sung about was being in a box. This led to David Anders singing a Robin Hood theme song.

- David Anders can sing. Both he and Karen sang during the panel. Sean sort of halfheartedly sang at one point, but he deferred to the other two. Karen serenaded us with a Galavant song. It was glorious.

- Karen and David would have loved to be in the musical episode, but Karen pointed out that the regular cast has a lot of talented people and they should take center stage over recurring characters. Sean would not have wanted to be in the musical episode, but was happy it was well-received and that his castmates did well.

- Karen enjoys teasing Colin. He apparently tried to get her to crack at various points and she took that as a challenge so now it’s a bit of a thing with them. (She apparently tweeted a picture of a ham to him at one point.) Also, apparently someone tweeted “#pantydropper” to Colin once and it makes him turn red whenever it’s mentioned. So Karen makes sure to mention it.

- Oh, and in the finale scene where Hook calls Snow ‘mom’, the first few takes apparently Colin played it all over the top sexy just for laughs.

- David enjoyed working with Sean on the couple of scenes they had together. He was impressed with Sean’s ability to cry (holding Peanut) and not break character even when dealing with cheesy lines.

- Sean finds that the more serious a scene is, the more he wants to joke around (which I so relate to). He made a comment about that possibly being the reason he was let go.

- Karen was really excited to with Ginnifer Goodwin in her first episode. She shared a care package her dad sent to her with Ginny. And then gave little care packages, including tea, to her castmates a lot. She stopped when she realized how expensive it was going to be. She apologized to Sean because she stopped it before he came back.

- She talked about what a pro Lana is and how when she’s playing the Evil Queen she is totally into it. But in the diner scene where the Evil Queen is force choking Jasmine, Karen made this really weird, loud choking noise that she broke character and apologized for. Lana cracked up, and Karen said she had to be looking away in the rest of the takes so she wouldn’t laugh.

- When asked about props or stunts that were memorable, Karen said she absolutely loved the flying carpet stuff. And working with Joanna. She is totally in love with being a Disney princess; she referenced it a lot. It was too cute. Sean talked about riding the fake horse in the streets of “New York” and how ridiculous he looked and how the people watching the filming looked at him like he was nuts. He also talked about how sometimes the arrows he used were CGI because “apparently the producers didn’t want him accidentally shooting his castmates. Or the crew. Or random citizens of Vancouver.” David joked that the heart he used in his scenes was real, donated by someone named Doug who died and donated his organs to Once.

- They all love Eduardo and his costumes and what he did for their characters. Sean talked about how it helped him find the character. Karen said Eduardo told her she’s be on a liquid diet to fit into her costume so she loved when wore the cape because she got to eat that day. David loved the steampunk look to his costume.

- Someone asked what spinoff they’d like to do for any of the roles they played. David said there had been talk of a Sark spinoff for Alias at one point. Sean said he’d love to play the version of Ian Fleming he played in Timeless in a spinoff. Karen just said she wanted more Galavant - maybe a movie or a musical.

- All three of them geek out whenever they get the chance to act with Robert Carlyle. They all think he’s amazing.

- David doesn’t know how to play anything but villains.

- David and Sean were fucking savage about Trump. Sean did an impression of him that I’m pretty sure was the start of my tearing up from laughing, and when asked which real life hero or villain he would be he said he would be Trump so that he could shoot himself in the head. Then at the end when they were asked who they’d take a magic carpet ride with, David said Trump so that he could push him off. Sean said that David stole his answer verbatim and then looked out and said that they might as well do it right so he would take Pence on his carpet ride.

- Sean’s favorite thing to do besides acting is napping. A highly underrated pastime. (Clearly a man with a small child.) Karen likes going into the studio to make music, and is learning golf. David agreed to help teach her.

- Karen is moving into Sean’s neighborhood. Sean is helping her move. Karen joked that she just wanted to see Sean in a tank top and then Sean talked about as actors how they’d all have the perfect “moving day” outfits and that if his clashed with Karen’s husband he’d have to go home and change.

- David moved recently as well into a “cooler” neighborhood and apparently someone wrote something about hipsters not being welcome in the neighborhood. He left it up because it amused him and was actually kind of cool looking. He referenced Banksy in describing what it looked like.

- Sean liked doing Once Upon a Time in Wonderland because it let him develop his character a bit more. And because getting two paychecks is always good.

- Now that I’m thinking about it, Karen did reference wanting to do a spinoff called “Once Upon a Time in Agrabah.” She said she would take the magic carpet with Hook, and pick up Robin and Whale on the way because after spending the weekend with Sean and David she was bummed that she never got to have scenes with either of them. (Seriously though, they seemed to have hit it off really well. They were having a great time together and were really comfortable with each other.)

- A gentleman talked about how his wife had been battling cancer and Once was a godsend to her because it helped keep her mind off the pain of chemo and he was really grateful to the show for being so important to her. Sean said something really lovely about how he thought he spoke for all the cast that being able to create something that was so meaningful to so many people and to hear stories like that was what made their jobs worthwhile.

- Karen talked about her parents and how inspirational they were to her. They weren’t allowed more than $20 when they emigrated first to England and then to Canada. Her dad framed the $20 to remind her and her sister of how important it was to work hard to achieve your goals and how supportive and awesome they were.

- She also talked about being bullied growing up and dealing with racism and how seeing Disney princesses like Jasmine and Mulan and Pocahontas helped her to recognize that those things she was being bullied for were what made her special. When she was done talking, David leaned over and gave her a hug.

I’m sure there’s more stuff that I’m missing because the panel was pretty much an entire hour of amazing and I am so so glad I went. Karen David is sunshine personified, Sean Maguire is witty and sweet and charming, and David Anders is so much funnier than I was expecting (and also had moments of sweetness.) I highly recommend attending any panel any of them do, separately or together. But especially together because it was just truly delightful. (And I am really bummed that I missed the chance to do the photo op with the three of them together now. Alas.)

#phoenix comicon #ouat #sean maguire #karen david #david anders #the whole weekend was fun #but even if it had been total crap #it still would have been worth it #for that panel alone

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powertobehandsome · 7 years

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Blind Date || Matt and Seth

In which Shiv and I decided to do a random little thing so I can try to better grasp the voice of Seth. And it goes from ridiculous to hilarious to heartbreaking in a matter of seconds. -- @violent-nobility

"Fuck," Carol groaned as she slowly sat up, holding a hand against her head. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... shit. You guys okay?"

"Other than being in the closet," Matt responded, his voice dry as ever. "I am, but Oliver's still out." He was sitting against the wall, the Arrow's head and shoulders in his lap, and he held onto him protectively.

"Closet?" Carol blinked, but as her vision cleared, she saw that he meant it literally. They were in some kind of cleaning supply closet -- explained the smell. She pushed herself up and brushed bits of grit and soot off of her supersuit, then slowly got to her feet. "What the hell happened?"

"Deadpool." Matt's voice was tight, angry, and quiet. "He saw the opportunity to steal something from Thanos, I don't know what it was, but he took it and.. when he did, something -- we just fell. Gravity felt like it -- turned off." He licked his lips and gave a small shake of his head. "But I'm guessing he's here, somewhere. We just have to find him."

"Okay." Carol nodded and reached down to lift Oliver up. As she did, he woke, although groggily. Blood streamed down the side of his head, dripping from the side of his mask. "Ollie?"

"Fine," he murmured, then nodded. "I'm fine."

"Okay... so... we just need to find Deadpool, steal back the gem, it'll be fine. How hard can it be to find a guy in a conspicuous red suit?" Carol helped Matt up, then went and opened the door -- into one of the loudest, most crowded places she'd seen in a long time...

Where at least ten Deadpools were cavorting together.

"Sweet costumes!" a Stormtrooper said as they passed by. Carol looked own at her own costume -- blue, red, gold. Blood. Soot. Oliver's dark green leather was badly scuffed, and he was covered in all sorts of wounds. Matt just looked like an insane ninja in his black blindfold and skintight black shirt -- god she loved that shirt on him though -- and cargo pants. He wasn't bleeding, but from the way he had his arm held against his chest, she was guessing he'd hurt it.

Right. Okay.

"This... is an actual nightmare I've had," Ollie muttered as the Deadpools started cartwheeling together, to shrieks and applause from the huge audience of con-goers.

"It'll be fine. We just need to find the right one."

Seth had a booth set up in the center of the great hall, directly catty-corner to both the marvel and the DC sets. He had the prime location, and it had cost a pretty penny. But his mother believed in him, believed in his new comic, and this gave Seth every opportunity to geek out as cosplayer after cosplayer stopped by, picked up a copy of ATOMIC COUNTY and let him take a picture along with their payment.

He'd used his phone to get a few pictures of the cartwheeling Deadpools, and just happened to look over to his right as a collection of the most obscure collection of cosplayers all but limped out of a janitorial closet between two of the concession stands. "Ryan... Ryan look at this. Do you think this is an orgy gone wrong? You see, I always knew Comic Con would be different if I stayed stationary, if I was in the mix of it and able to just watch people come and go. Speak of which, I think these... You know, this is something I haven't really seen since that first week you were in Newport. Do you remember that? The party that we went to after the fashion show. There was the fight on the beach. And I accidentally walked in on an orgy in the bathroom."

"Seth... Your point?"

"My point is, Ryan, that those three... there's something twisted going on there. They all walk out of a closet, dressed in costume, the guys are the ones who look more roughed up. Do you think..."

"Do I think they maybe just had a make out session? And she kicked their asses because they were leaving her out?"

Seth stood and gawked at his best friend, brows raised. "I was going to say do you think that is some of that corn syrup fake blood? Or the stuff that tastes like throw up. Because if I'm going to spread my wings, that means introducing myself to new people."

"You're not going to try to make out with one of them."

"One of them? No, Ryan, all three. This is Comic Con. Go big or go home. What happens in San Diego, stays in San Diego."

"That's Vegas."

"Or Tijuana."

"Seth..."

"Right. Shhh. They're coming this way. Who's winning right now, me or my hair."

"It's your hair, Seth. It's always your hair."

"Do you think they'll-- Hi. Hi guys. Can I interest you in one of my comics. Atomic County. Based off of real life experiences, I've discovered it makes the characters more real, makes them feel less far fetched when it comes to their powers, and the likes. What are you... the Arrow. Are you a Captain Marvel? Very nice. I like the whole layout you've got going with the colors. And who... I mean. I've seen weirder ninjas, I guess. Or are you one of the like... Image comic characters? But welcome. Is the Arrow alright? Is he drunk, or is he just a method actor with that head injury?"

By the time the kid was done talking at them, Oliver was staring at him like he was going to put an arrow through one of his eyes. The three of them had all stopped, surprised at being accosted, but when the kid was done yapping, Oliver just clenched his jaw a little and turned away. Everything hurt and he was lightheaded, but he'd had worse, and there really wasn't time to go get patched up, let alone time to listen to this kid.

"No," was all he said, his voice sharp, and he turned back to Carol. "Ca-- ptain Marvel, we have to go. I don't think any of those are him." Ollie nodded towards the Deadpools, who were now hugging people and signing autographs. "Daredevil?"

Matt, who was thoroughly miserable in the shrieking crowd, lifted his chin and told himself to focus, listening to the group of Deadpools. After a moment, he shook his head. "No. None of them. He's not here. We have to keep moving." He rotated his shoulders as much as he could while still holding his arm against himself.

Carol nodded and turned back to the kid. "Did you see another Deadpool leave this area recently? It's important that we find him now. So please. If you saw him, help us."

Seth watched them, nodding, looking back to Ryan and then lifting his brow as if this was his in, as if this was what he'd planned to happen all along. Because in San Diego? At Comic Con? This was his place, his people.

"Deadpools? Yes. I saw two. Though in this place it might be..."

"Seth..." This time, Ryan was actually helping. "Why don't you show them the way. They don't... seem to exactly know the best places to look. And you are the one who saw them. I'll watch the booth."

"Right. This was fellas... and lady..." Seth walked around the booth, gesturing for Ryan to not forget pictures, and then gestured for them to start heading down toward Hall C. He looked at the man in mostly black.

"So, you're Daredevil. Is it the tie around the eyes that's supposed to be the giveaway. I'm not at all trying to judge costume, that event happens tomorrow night, and I'm not a part of the panel, but are you just going for his early days? Not many people do that these days. I've gotta give you some mad props."

He started to lead them down a left hallway and at this point, he wasn't entirely sure where he was leading them, but he knew he had seen a Deadpool walk in this general direction. Though, it had been a few minutes, and by this point, he could be anywhere.

"So, I have to ask. Everybody else went marvel. Why did you go DC? Is it that you like the darker undertones of the universe? Or is there some other factor?"

"Me?" Oliver asked. This wasn't the first parallel world he had experienced, but even still, he hated this shit, and it came across in his voice. "I don't care about -- DC or Marvel." Whatever that is. "We're here to do a job." Instinctively, he reached out and pulled Matt closer, keeping Matt's injured side next to him.

"Marvel -- named after Captain Marvel?" Matt asked. This was all new for him, all very new, and he didn't like it at all. He didn't get entangled in the bigger stuff, he didn't jump from world to world, he didn't play around with people who had powers. Jesus. This was insane. This was completely, completely insane. "And who are you?"

"I'm Seth Cohen. I was running that booth because I created this comic called Atomic County based on the life I lead with my friend Ryan while we were in high school in Southern California. But I'm sorry. That's irrelevant. What do you mean you don't care about Marvel or DC? They're the two major food groups, they're the super powers of the comic world. They are who every writer and artist want to be involved with..."

Seth pointed to a man dressed in a full Deadpool costume -- a better one than Seth could remember seeing. "There are three there. That one... Hey, guys. That one doesn't have his blades tagged." Looking around, all others in cosplay had orange or green or bright blue bands around their blades, their guns, even their bows. "... Neither do any of you... Are you... Are you going to create some kind of mass killing? Oh god, i've gotten mixed up in the worse kind of crowd. I'm worse than Marissa with Volchuck. And that got her killed. Look. If any of you are going to go rogue, please let it be the Green Arrow. Marvel doesn't need any of the bad rap right now."

The group stopped. Oliver looked at Matt, who was focused entirely on the sound of that Deadpool's heartbeat. Matt looked like shit, Ollie thought, pale and sweating more than he usually did, but he still trusted the man's senses -- and when he saw the slight tightening of Matt's lips, he knew.

"Done," Ollie said to Seth. In an instant, he had nocked and aimed an arrow. "Sebastian Moran!" he snapped -- and only one Deadpool turned, the one with the untagged weapons. In the same instant, Oliver fired. The arrow slammed into Wade's thigh, the force of it enough to take him down -- and he was pinned to the floor. It wouldn't last long, though, and they all knew it. Ignoring the screams, Oliver fit another arrow, but Carol had already moved. She straddled Wade, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Heeeyyy, Carol! Is that you? Gosh, I didn't recognize you in this, um, marvelous place!"

"Give us the stone," she growled.

"How about I give you my fist in your face?" he asked, and jerked an arm free, but Oliver stepped on his wrist and held it down before he could do anything. "I don't have it anymore! Ow, Jesus, what the hell, man?"

In the background, someone whispered, "Oh my god, it's a live performance!" and the shrieks mostly began quieting.

Matt leaned against the wall, out of the picture.

"Where is it." Oliver pressed down harder, absolutely furious. "You stole it. You brought us here. What did you do with it?"

"I gave it to some shiny gold guy." Wade shrugged as best he could. "Adam something. Real crazy eyes. Actually, he looked a lot like Captain Space Lesbian's boy-toy slash mentor. Sort of like maybe Jim Starlin couldn't get over his Mar-Vell crush and just haaaaad to keep drawing him. Except spraypainted gold. I mean, wow, talk about jaundice."

"Who the hell is he talking about?" Oliver looked at Carol.

"I don't--" but she didn't get the chance to finish. Somehow, Wade managed to throw both of them off. He kicked her square in the chest, punched Oliver, flipped away, and was gone.

The room applauded.

The room applauded, but Seth had been pushed back against a wall when the Arrow had pulled his weapon, his untagged weapon. And "Sebastian Moran? Like the Sherlock Holmes character? What in the hell does he have to do with Comic Con? I mean, there's a Sherlock panel tomorrow, but there is no canon adaptation of Moran on that show..." But talking, now, seemed ill advised. He watched the performance slipping behind a few of the spectators.

Looking at the Daredevil who was hiding along the edge of the wall, Seth carefully moved to the doorway through which they'd entered. "Warlock?" If there's a Warlock that's involved in this... cosplay or whatever, Seth knew they needed to get out of here. He had to get Ryan.

Warlock? The concern in the word was enough to attack Matt's attention. He turned towards the young man who'd been helping them -- Seth -- but the kid was already too far away. Pressing his arm a little more firmly against his body, Matt touched the fingertips of his left hand to the wall and started moving along it, trying to follow the kid. Oliver and Carol had already taken off after Wade, and he had to believe they'd catch him -- but if this kid knew who Deadpool had given the infinity stone to, they couldn't afford to waste that information.. or so he'd been led to believe. He still wasn't entirely sure just what the hell it was.

"Wait... wait... Seth! Please." Matt froze when someone whipped around and almost whacked him in the face with their foam sword, but it missed him by a quarter of an inch. He swore silently, ducked under it, then left the wall and moved after the kid as quickly as he could. "Seth?"

"Listen, Daredevil? Or whoever you are," Seth turned on a heel, hand lifted to his mouth, held just in front of it as he tried to come up with the right way to tell him that he couldn't get involved. "I don't know why you wanted me to get involved with this? I don't... I just want to get my friend out of here. Because while everybody else thinks that was a show, your friend in green actually smelled like blood, and you haven't stopped clutching your side until... well, until now. And I don't believe that was an act. I'm not saying I believe the characters of my favorite graphic novels are real, though how cool would that be. But if you are real? And if you're really getting Warlock involved. I just want to go home before all hell breaks loose."

Matt felt like the world was twisting out from under him for the second time that day, listening to this madness. The kid seemed to not only know who they were -- that had been disturbing from the first time he started speaking to the others -- but he thought they were fictional. Maybe Oliver and Carol knew how to handle that, but Matt didn't. This was never what he had signed up for, but it was too late now.

He pulled off his hood and shoved it in his pocket. Although he hated to do this, hated to let people see the way his eyes wandered and sometimes seemed to shiver, he knew that eye contact meant something to the sighted, even when they knew he couldn't see back.

"My name's Matt. Not Daredevil. Seth, look, please. I don't know -- what's going on. I'm not a superhero. I'm a vigilante in Hell's Kitchen. And this -- this is way above my pay grade. But what I do know is that we need help -- information. And maybe it was fate or chance or God, but something put you in our path, and maybe there was a reason for that. Thanos has all of these -- these infinity stone things, I don't -- I don't know what they are. But he wants to destroy the universe, and Carol seems to think he can, if he gets the last one.

"Which Deadpool took. This Warlock guy.. if you know something, please help us. Please. You don't have to get involved, you can turn and run and never look back, but please just -- tell me what you know."

"What I know? What I know is your name is Matt Murdock. Your father's name was Jonathan "Battling Jack" Murdock. He raised you alone, claiming that your mother had died. He wanted you to be more successful than you, like any parent would. He urged you to constantly study instead of playing sports or actively making friends. He hoped that you would become a doctor or a lawyer, which, for the record, is what you did with your best friend, Foggy Nelson. He always referred to himself as an 'uneducated pug' and didn't want you to be like him. But because he wouldn't let you make friends, you got bullied, trained in his gym... Do I need to go on?"

Matt's jaw dropped and he went paler than he had been. He took a step back and held his hand up as if he needed to ward Seth away. The words had come flying out of nowhere, powerful jabs, and he felt sicker than he had a minute ago.

"No," he said, voice suddenly a little hoarse. "No. You..." He wanted to leave. Christ, he wanted to leave, to get the hell out of here and away from this kid -- but Oliver and Carol might not catch Deadpool, and if they were right, bigger shit rested on this. His personal comfort couldn't matter. "Seth. Please. Who is Adam Warlock.. and how do I find him?"

"Oh god... where to start. For the longest time he was just referred to as Him. He...is known for enlisting the aid of the Avengers, and your Captain Marvel in order to stop Thanos. During this battle, his younger self shows up and takes the soul of the older one... He ended up in this Soul World gem? Anyway. After Thanos was resurrected, he collected all the gems and formed the gauntlet. When certain beings tried to resist him, he captured them and threw them into the soul gem with Warlock. Naturally, they all met, and they tried to convince Warlock that Thanos needed to be defeated again.

"But here's the catch. Warlock gets the gauntlet, and then becomes this new near supreme being of the universe. And Adam Warlock? He doesn't care about life. He wants a perfect existence. He wants the gauntlet for himself. So if he has the gems? If Deadpool gave him the last one? Well, in the comics, the Living Tribunal told him that he couldn't be trusted with it and made him divvy up the gems. When Warlock had the gauntlet, he ridded himself of good and evil. He just became this.... being of pure logic. Man, I don't know how to not overwhelm you with his history. I can already see that what I knew about you was too much. But from what I've read of Warlock? Him having the gauntlet is as bad or worse than Thanos..."

Seth shrugged, looking around, trying to let some of his anxiety wither away. "He's too logical. He's always right. But you can never trust him to do the right thing."

Matt shook his head. This was too much. This was too damn much. Still, too much or not, there was no choice but to deal with it. So, after a moment, he nodded. It was a small gesture, but for Matt, it was more than just the acknowledgement of the information; it was an agreement. He'd asked, he'd heard, and now he had to act. It felt, to Matt, like he had just agreed to die -- but he reminded himself that was what he'd chosen. Time and again, he'd chosen death for himself if it meant life for someone else, and this was no different, terrifying a prospect as it was.

"Okay," he said, soft and calm now. "Thank you, Seth. You should... probably go. Get your friend. Hide. Wait it out. I'll try and -- if we can, we'll keep the fight out of the city. Away from -- people."

He should listen, of course he should. Seth wasn't the Ironist. Ryan wasn't the Fists of Fury. Regardless of what his own comics claimed.

"But you're in no condition to face Warlock. Hell, you're in no condition to face Deadpool. Just... Be safe, yeah? I'm a fan of what you do. And Elektra was never right for you."

Matt visibly flinched at the name and he took a step back, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah. Right. Okay. Um. Thank you. Be safe. As safe as you can. Just, uh -- be safe." He hesitated, feeling like this wasn't over somehow, but it had to be. The longer he talked to the kid, the longer it would be before the kid could run off and find somewhere safe.

"Good luck with your comic. I hope that your -- your characters never have to really suffer. Go hide." Matt turned and slipped away, back the way he had come -- exactly the way he had come, following the memory out rather than try to find his way anew, too lost in thought, too distracted by the foundations of his world being nothing more than ash and dust.

Seth watched him leave, pursing his lips, feeling like he should get involved.

He shouldn't get involved.

Ryan would get involved.

He'll understand.

Without calling out to the other man, Seth silently followed him through the crowd.

How much trouble could he get into, anyway?

Matt stopped when he got to the place that he had first touched the wall. Oliver and Carol were still gone -- probably for the best, he knew, but how the hell was he supposed to get any kind of message to them? They needed to know about Warlock, they needed to know how bad this really was --

But he might need to go to a hospital. Arm throbbing, his abdomen aching in a deeper, worse way than the broken bone, Matt leaned against the wall for a moment. The room was absolute din, but there was one softer place in the wall of sound -- a muted place. An open door. Not a door to the outside -- no fresh air -- but it went in the right direction, he thought. He would have to cross the room to get to it, which he wasn't looking forward to doing, not in the shape he was in. Just finding Deadpool had felt like it took whatever remaining strength he had, and now, all he wanted was to find somewhere cool and quiet to curl up and stay.

But that wasn't an option. The kid had given him valuable information, and since they couldn't go back to him to get more -- they couldn't risk putting a target on his back -- he had to stay alive to use that information.

Matt put his mask back on, awkwardly with just one hand. He couldn't go into the crowd with his eyes exposed. People would see. They could get in, but he couldn't stop them, not if his eyes were uncovered. The weight of the hood was subtle but familiar, and he gave a small sigh of relief. He'd get out there, find a way out of the building, find Oliver and Carol and...

It would be fine.

Matt headed into the crowd. It took longer to cross than he had hoped - unless it just felt like it took an age - and then finally he was in an almost quiet hallway. He followed the hints of fresh air until he found an exterior door, pushed it open, and then stepped out into the wonderful warmth of a beautiful day.

Queasy, he tried not to stumble or limp, tried to look as normal as possible as he headed towards the sidewalk but he didn't make it far. Finding a planter, he stopped and leaned against it, hunching over. "No," Matt growled to himself. "Don't do this."

People were starting to stare, and some of the security guards had heard about the show, the one that had not been on the itinerary. Seth had slipped through the people, almost reaching out more than once as Matt had moved along.

Outside, when Matt leaned against the planter, Seth reached to take him by the elbow and take him into a corner created by an inward jut of the wall. "I was never a lifeguard, or anything. But I did take a first aid class once. Where are you hurting?" His fingers moved carefully over ribs, counting, feeling for cracks. "I can drive you to a hospital. I'll call Ryan and have him look for your friends, if you want."

Matt had tensed at the unfamiliar touch, but he relaxed just as quickly. He wasn't too proud to accept help when he needed it -- at least once he admitted to himself that he needed it. Still, he couldn't monopolize this kid's time.. and the kid was supposed to be hiding.

"Aren't you supposed to be.. not here?" he asked, reaching out to put his good hand on Seth's shoulder, steadying himself. "It's in my side," Matt answered and cleared his throat. "Lower, lo-- mm. There." He took as deep a breath as he could and when he let it out, he could hear it shaking. The place he'd stopped Seth's hand wasn't on the last rib, but a few inches below it, where Matt's muscles had bunched up hard as rocks. "I fell on it during the fight. That and my arm -- but that's just a broken bone. This is... Not." He swallowed against the pain. "You shouldn't be getting involved," he said, forcing the words out as calmly as he could, hand clenching just a little too tightly around the kid's shoulder.

Shit.

Matt let go. "Sorry."

That would bruise, likely, but Seth had grit his teeth as his shoulder was clutched.

He held the spot, where Matt was hurting, and Seth tried not to get overly excited that he was essentially in the middle of a comic. He thought about all the people who would walk away from this, and that he, too, should likely be one of those people. But Ryan would be ashamed of him. Sure he'd never directly say it. But Seth needed to get involved. Always. That's what made life exciting, wasn't it? That's what made the difference between being the nerd everybody ignored, and the hero of your own comics.

"That's likely true; there are many times where I look back on my history and I think that I shouldn't have gotten involved, or that Ryan shouldn't get involved but those never make the good stories." Who knew, maybe Seth could sell a pitch for a cross over some day. Or maybe, if nothing else, he could draw it up for himself.

"Now, will you let me take you to the hospital? Or are you going to be one of the stubborn super hero types and insist that you're completely fine. Because, and this is just a personal opinion, but I think your rib is maybe not supposed to be doing that."

"It's not my rib," Matt said quietly. "It's..." Internal bleeding. It's bad. "...soft tissue damage. It's deep. I should be okay, but.. The ribs hurt, but this is... I.." He couldn't get the kid involved -- but he needed help. Matt hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. "Please. Take me to the hospital."

And please forgive me. I'm so sorry.

"It would be convenient, now, if I were Ryan. Because I'd just pick you up and carry you to the car." He laughed awkwardly, took Matt by the hand, and then offered as much strength as he could.

"You said you should be okay, but considering you can barely walk and..." he stopped to give Matt time to breathe, lifting the edge of his shirt just enough to the black bruise that was already spreading across his abdomen. "Yeah. That's kinda what I figured. Let's go."

Seth didn't know San Diego. He plugged in his phone and typed in the hospital, looking for the closest one. Then went around to open the back door. "Lay across the seat. I think that's what's going to be better for you, rather than sitting up the whole way."

With Matt situated, Seth sent a quick text to Ryan and then took off. "Hey... So, I know this is maybe asking a bit too much of the universe, but I kind of need you to not die."

"Okay," Matt agreed, with a soft laugh. It was a strange sound -- cynical and happy at once, an honest promise and a bitter admission of what reality really was. "I won't die in the back of your car. That'd be a pretty crappy way to repay someone for trying to save me, after all.."

Still, now that he was laying down, it was hard to want to stay awake. There was no way that any of this could be real. The entire day was insane -- the premise of the day was insane. It was a bad dream. All of this. There was no Californian supernerd convention where people spoke like prophets. There was no Adam Warlock, no Thanos, no infinity gauntlet. There was no kind, strange young person named Seth who seemed torn between the hyperactivity of youth and the blossoming calm and kindness of an adult. None of this was happening. Matt wasn't dying in the backseat of a car because he couldn't be dying in the backseat of a car -- it was just all too nuts.

Several hours passed before anyone came back out to the waiting room. The person who did was a young, suntanned doctor with dyed red hair and green contacts. She looked around and when a nurse pointed Seth out to her, she walked over him to.

"You're the one who bought the John Doe in? Guy with the broken arm, the injury on his side?"

Seth stood, thinking about how much this woman reminded him of Julie Cooper, but that was no reason to not trust her, certainly.

Or so he told himself.

"I am. Is he... I mean, will he be okay?"

"Would you like to come back and see him? He asked to se-- to talk to you. If you're still here. I can tell him you left, you know -- you don't need to get involved in... whatever this is."

"Do I look that innocent? You know, when I was in high school..." But he couldn't even finish the thought. Seth stood and nodded. "Yes, of course I want to go back to see him. Thanks for your concern, or whatever. But yeah. Please. Take me back there."

The doctor gestured for him to walk in front of her, her unnaturally colored eyes gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"He should live," she said as they walked back through a maze of corridors. "There was some internal bleeding, but you got him here quick enough. Everything's closed up and cleaned up; your friend just needs to mend. But tell me." Her voice sounded just a shade too innocent, too casual, as she asked, "How did you two meet?"

His brow pinched together and he glanced at the woman, rolling his shoulders. He didn't understand the impulse to lie, but at least he wasn't Ryan. That kid sucked at lying.

"He's been working in the booth next to me through all of Comic Con. Some idiot kids came in and started... I don't know. It was like a riot? Man. Comic nerds can get carried away. But he's a nice guy. His name is Matt. But that's all I know about him."

"He must be a stunt guy or something." She smiled and took him into an elevator. When the doors shut, she stared at Seth before reaching over and hitting the button for the next floor up. "Lots of scars. What's your name?"

"Seth Cohen," he replied, suddenly feeling quite untalkative. "Wait. Wasn't he blind?" It was better to treat him like a normal guy. "I mean. Not that he can't be a stunt guy and blind. California is the place of dreams, right?"

"You ever hear of a blind stunt guy? I guess weirder things have happened. How old are you, Seth?"

"I'm 26. Im sorry, but why is this important?"

"Oh, I'm just curious." She smiled at him again, like he needed to be reassured, then led him down one more hall and into Matt's room.

Matt looked terrible. He looked worse. Significantly worse. There were fresh bruises all over his face and his knuckles. His broken arm hadn't been set and looked like it was swelling badly, and as if the bones weren't quite straight. He was hooked to a few IVs, his eyebrow and lip were split, and he was restrained -- both wrists, ankles, and a strap around his waist, his chest, and his neck.

The doctor put her hand on Seth's shoulder. "You really should tell me the truth," she purred. "He's a very, very dangerous person. Security had a tough time with him... And you don't want to get involved in something like this. Trust me. Now tell me the truth."

Seth squirmed from under the touched and moved closer to Matt, a hand over his mouth, trying to understand what had happened.

"What? I told you the truth. His name is Matt. He worked in the booth next to me. What did you do to him? I'm calling the police."

"Don't worry... We've already called the appropriate authorities." She shut the door and it locked automatically. Smiling, the doctor leaned against it and took a syringe out of her pocket. "Have a seat, Seth.”

"No. What? No. What are you?" He pulled his phone out to call Ryan. Because somehow he would help. "No. I'm reporting you all. What have you done to him?" Seth moved to the far side of the bed, reaching to touch him gently. "I'm sorry, man. I thought I was helping you."

Matt's lips twitched, and then the fingers of his good hand twitched, but he didn't wake.

"You're not going to get a signal in here. All you need to do is sit down and relax. It'll all be over soon.." Her smile widened. "Hail Hydra."

"Hail... What?" Seth's eyes went wide. There's no way this was real. The group, sure. But this...

"What do you want from me?"

"I told you, darling. All I want is the truth about this man. But if you won't give it to me..." She smiled, the very picture of beauty and malicious insincerity. "You won't be any use to me, will you?"

Seth's chin lifted, and the frown on his face showed how close he was to being sick. "Well, since you have trouble believing this face, which I must say is really strange, because I've always been honest, and I'm not sure what you're expecting to get from me? I was born in Newport. I went to high school at harbor. My parents adopted my brother when we were both 16. He dated the girl next door on and off for a few years. Then she died in a car accident. He was there with her when she did. He and I thought about becoming a thing. But with us spending so much time as brothers. We just couldn't get past it. So I don't know why you think I'm lying about this guy I don't know..."

"Oh, you poor, poor dear." There wasn't an ounce of sympathy in her, and she took the cap off the needle, then rested her thumb on the plunger. "Is a stranger really worth your life? He's a bad man, Seth Cohen... with the adopted brother, the tragic backstory, and a family that will surely miss you when you're gone... A vulnerable family, no doubt." She was enjoying this, and her voice went a bit sultry. "Such a darling young man you are.."

"I don't think he's the danger, lady. I think you are." He reached for whatever he could get his hands on -- a rod to hold up bags of medication -- and held it over Matt's body. "I also don't think you're pretty, so you can knock it off with the fake charm."

"Okay." She smiled and lunged at Seth, seeking to grab the rod with one hand so she could inject the obstinate little shit with the other. Stupid brat!

Seth swung as much as he could. He wasn't a fighter. Never had been. But he could swing the rod, and with the strength of a nerd, struck her over the head with it. He jabbed and ended up entirely wound in tubes and the likes, but by the time he was done, she'd nicked his arm with the needle, but he'd managed to make her unconscious. Running to unlock the door, and then take the brakes off the bed, Seth did his best to get them out of that damn hospital.

By the time he was pushing the bed out of the door, Matt started to come to. Sort of. He tried to sit up and winced when he couldn't. For a moment, he looked both truly frightened and truly angry, but then he recognized the smell that was with him, recognized the heartbeat he'd had so much time to listen to in the car.

"Seth. What's.. happening?"

"Apparently hydra knew you were here. Though why they were interested in you, I don't know. Doesn't much matter. We're getting out of here."

"What's hydra?" Matt tried to move again, but bit back a cry of pain when he tugged on his broken arm. "F... can you let me out? I'll move.. faster.. with you... Walking." A plus communication skills there, Murdock.

"The avengers? Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes? Never mind. They're evil." He pulled more tubes free and then stopped the bed, offering a hand, stopping to seemingly catch his balance, eyes closing for a moment. "Weird. Okay. Man. Let's get you out of here. I thought I was helping, but I've only hurnmk..." Seth cleared his throat. "Hurt you more."

Hydra. Right. Hydra. Matt's head felt like he was still halfway asleep, barely able to function, but he did his best to focus. When the restraints around his body were unclipped and the heavy, padded straps taken away, Matt carefully sat up -- but he froze when the kid's throat seemed to tighten. He tried to focus on listening to his heart and his blood, but he couldn't, he couldn't.

Fuck.

"You.. didn't hurt me. What's wrong? Who... hurt you? We've got to, um.." Matt got to his feet, nearly fell, but caught himself with his good arm against the wall. "Go. Are you okay?"

Over exaggerating his nod, Seth tried to wave off the concern, tried to catch Matt when he almost fell, but had to grip the bed rail as that almost pulled him to the ground.

"I'm. 'M fine. I should have helped you. I came to help you. I dnnn rememner the walls being red..."

Fuck. Something was really wrong with the kid. (Kid. When Matt finds out he's only two years older than Seth, he'll feel like an idiot).

He forced his body to obey him as he moved to support Seth. "Time to go." If Hydra owned this hospital, they couldn't stay, but where the hell could they go?

Whatever. They'd figure it out on the go. Matt wrapped his broken arm around Seth and started moving down the hall. "You don't. Dont sound so good."

Seth shook his head, trying to clear it. "Right. We gotta get you out."

He wrapped an arm around Matt in return, trying to help him walk, trying to figure out why this color red made him want to puke. Why red, tho. It was such a stressful color. Reminded him of combat and...

"Matt? It's been hourssss. Where are your frnnns?"

Matt shook his head. He didn't know where they were. He was in agony, but Seth needed help and that meant -- what, another hospital? The kid could die on the way, and Matt would exhaust himself even more than he already was. He'd never be able to fight off... hospitals never had red walls, did they?

Strange. Matt took him back down to the ER. "Help. My friend's sick. Something... is wrong. Help him."

The nurse gave Matt a confused look. She remembered his black clothes, but hadnt he been admitted? So why was he still in them? Still, she focused on the other man.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" She asked, and it sounded like she actually gave a damn.

"My frnnn has a broken arm. Bleeding. Lady upseerrrmsss. In room. Tried to kill him. N me. Caught me with drrttyyy needeemlll." Seth looked at the woman, his stomach rolled.

"Why red walls? Help him."

From there, things happened quickly. Seth was admitted. Matt was admitted. The police were called and security was stepped up.

Hours passed. When Matt woke, he sensed at once that he was safe. He wasn't in a hospital, which surprised him, but he was safe. His body ached all over and moving at all sounded like the worst idea he'd ever had, so he just lay still and listened.

Seth was next to him in the hotel bed, asleep, clean, stable enough.

Oliver and Carol were in the other room, talking grimly about Hydra having followed them here. Oliver sounded tired but better, and Carol sounded just like she had since Matt met her: intimidating, calm, and strong.

They hadn't caught Deadpool.

Oliver's blood pressure was low.

Matt blinked a few times, his useless eyes feeling dry and tired, and then he closed them. Thank God, he thought. Thank God they'd all gotten out alive. Although it hurt to do, he carefully slid his unbroken arm over and slid his hand around the kid's

You saved me, kid, Matt thought. I promise to do whatever it takes to protect you.

He stayed quiet and still after that. He wanted to get up and get something to drink, he wanted to pee, he wanted to go put his hand on Oliver's shoulder and tell him to get rest, but he couldn't quite convince himself to move yet. He'd wait until Seth woke, he told himself; then, Matt wouldn't have to feel guilty for waking the kid up.

Seth didn't remember a lot of what happened after they'd had to sedate him, ironic as that seemed. He'd fought, when they'd taken Matt away. Argued, yelled, threatened to throw punches he really didn't know how to throw. He'd slurred his way through trying to explain that Matt hadn't looked like that when he'd brought him here, but how much of his ravings they could actually understand through his dosage of cobra venom was undetermined.

Next there was sleep, peace, and no more red walls.

Seth woke with a tiny jerk, but his hand rested under Matt's. Knowing what he did of the Daredevil comics, he knew there would be no sense in pretending to sleep. His breathing and heart rate were bound to change.

Looking around the room, he smiled lightly, then pulled his hand free, moving to sit up at the edge of the bed. "You look better. I'm glad. I would hate to have to tell people that I caused Matt Murdock to fall into the hands of Hydra, just because I insisted on a hospital in San Diego." He laughed awkwardly, shrugging. "Ryan would be jealous -- all the adventure I had today. And the fight with the woman. I'll have to ham that story up a bit, I suppose. Just so it's especially difficult for him to believe..."

"I'd be dead if you hadn't insisted. You saved my life twice today. Thank you." Matt put his good hand on his side, feeling the site of what seemed to have been a surgery of some sort. Thick bandages covered the area that had hurt the worst, and he could feel new wound edges in it.

"You.." Matt had to clear his overly dry throat. "You deserve much more than to have almost died yourself. I'm sorry. You... I'm sorry."

There was a soft sound at the door and then Oliver opened it. He looked like an almost normal human being now, in jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot and bruised and bandaged.

"You were injected with cobra venom," Oliver explained, not sure how much the kid remembered. "How are you doing? Do you need anything?"

Though he'd been on the verge of making some kind of sarcastic comment in reply to Matt's gratitude, because Seth truly didn't know how to accept it without putting on a faux show of arrogance, his thoughts were cut off when the Arrow made his appearance as Oliver Queen.

"Yeah, man. My own cape and eye mask. Is that something that like, comes with the first super deed, or am I going to have to learn to sew? I could probably manage it, I can certainly design it, but what fabric have you found that works best with the sweating and the stretching and all that."

He smirked. "Also, can we talk super chicks? Because I can't lie, a girl that could kick my ass for the good of man kind is worth getting to know, at least over breakfast."

Looking back at Matt, Seth's expression sobered a little. "Any more whispers about Warlock?"

"Warlock?" Oliver asked. He came in, shut the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed by Matt, needing to know that he was alright.

Matt took a moment to explain everything Seth had told him. Although his voice shook a little from sheer exhaustion, he spoke with a quiet conviction, as if he truly believed that everything Seth had told him had relevance. Oliver watched Seth as Matt spoke. When Matt was done, Ollie nodded and started petting his hair, but his eyes were still on Seth. He was willing to accept the man was a necessary addition, but he wasn't as trusting or accepting as Matt was, as a general rule.

Still, the fabric thing was an easy enough topic. "Most of my gear is leather," Oliver answered, "some wool."

"I wear... I think the brand is called UnderArmour?" Matt said. "For the shirt. Then just.. regular cargo pants. Cotton." This was the weirdest conversation.

Oliver pulled the blanket down to look at Matt's bandages and make sure they were still in place, then he tucked him back in and looked at Seth again. "Going to take up a life of suffering and scars?"

Fighting crime would be awesome. But Seth was in no way qualified. This was what he did when around figures who intimidated. He talked about himself, without letting the conversation actually delve too deep into him.

"That was the whole point to me making the graphic. Story of a boy, living in Newport, looking to fight the white collar criminals with Cosmo Girl and Little Miss Vixen. So clearly I have a 10 year head start. Started those stories when I was 16... and I've read enough of your stories to know all the tactical information any kid could need."

Growing quiet, Seth again shrugged off concern. "I'm gonna use the bathroom."

"He's twenty-six?" Matt asked in surprise once Seth left the room.

"...how old did you think he was?"

"Maybe... nineteen?"

Oliver smiled and shook his head, then leaned down and kissed Matt softly on the lips, his heart aching with all of the love they'd agreed not to feel anymore -- an agreement both were failing at, more often than not. "Are you okay?"

"I won't be fighting anytime soon, will I?" Matt licked his lips. He could still taste Ollie's kiss, but he could also taste Oliver's blood on the air, even tucked away under bandages as it was. "I should have been protecting him, Ollie. He fought someone for me. He didn't have to... I wish..."

They both knew what he wished, and both knew how futile the words were to say aloud. After a moment of quiet, Oliver carefully helped Matt get up. Mostly supporting him, he helped him out to use the bathroom once Seth was done.

As for Carol, she was on the bed out there, also in jeans and a t-shirt, drinking a glass of water and watching the news with the sound off and captions on. When Seth came out from the bathroom, she nodded to him.

"Thank you for saving Matt."

Seth stepped back into the room just as, it appeared, a moment seemed to dissolve between Oliver and Matt.

"Interesting crossover," he muttered to himself. "The fan fiction writers would lose their minds if they happened upon this."

His ramblings were cut off by Carol's voice. Seth would never say it out loud, but he didn't know much about her story. The original Captain Marvel, sure, but other fandoms had originated Seth had lost track of that particular story line.

"Honestly, it's not in my nature to be modest. Quite the opposite, actually, I'm known to be self-absorbed and fairly insufferable. So believe me when I say I did nothing but deliver him into the hands of Hydra. He more saved himself in trying to save me. I, admittedly, don't have the hair to be a damsel in distress, it's true, but I think we worked well together."

"Matt doesn't have hero hair, so you're a good match," Oliver pointed out, giving a tired grin as he helped Matt lay down on the bed Carol was on. "Okay. So. Breakdown. Carol, have you ever seen those things we were fighting, before the breach opened?"

Carol glared at Oliver and shook her head. She was too tired for this team recap shit, but decided to suck it up and be grateful that Oliver was willing to take the leadership role here. She might be the group dad, but Ollie was definitely mom (much as Matt might have wanted the role).

"Okay. Matt?"

"Have I seen them?" Matt asked.

Oliver flipped him off and sat down on one of the room's few chairs. He looked over at Seth, so the kid would know he was invited to stay, then looked at Matt, who was wearily giving him the bird right back. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. But no. I haven't. They smelled similar to some of the Chitauri forces that attacked New York, but obviously these were much smaller. Well. Mostly smaller."

"You seemed pretty confident about fighting them."

Matt shook his head. "Holding back was never really my style. Besides. We had to try..."

Silence fell, then Oliver sighed and rubbed at his forehead. A few minutes later, the conversation resumed, Ollie keeping the other two focused on recalling what had worked and what hadn't -- and all of them avoided talking about Deadpool for now. Eventually, he looked back at Seth again. "Hydra isn't *usually* a real life problem here, is it?"

"Hydra? Considering it's just a facet of Nazi Germany, my quick answer would be no, they dissipated after they lost the war. There aren't really beings like any of you in this world. No super charged runners or billionaires who fight crime at night. Nor are there, technically, super villains. Though. To counter myself, if you consider the current president elect of the United States, something can be said for a resurgence of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi elites."

He shrugged, having been looking down at his hands while they had all regrouped, listening, making mental notes for when he woke from this bizarro dream.

"So what are your plans? Technically, in this city, this week, you won't look so out of place while dressed for fighting crime. But the police are also on high alert because people tend to let their imaginations get the better of them. And, as you realized with your friend, you can't trust the costumes people wear."

"Wade is never exactly... subtle," Carol said, trying to at least be somewhat kind with the word choice. "We're going to split up. Ollie will look for him, I'll handle this Warlock guy if I can find him."

"And I'll--"

"Rest," Oliver interrupted Matt. "You were picked up and smashed down against a car by a giant tentacle monster -- thing. Just stay put."

Matt muttered something unflattering but accepted it. He knew he was in over his head here, especially with the injuries.

"Which brings us to you, Seth." Oliver met the kid's eyes again. "You found out the hard way that life is safer when you're not with us. I suggest, strongly suggest, you get away from us and never look back -- but if you want to stay involved, we won't stop you. We just can't promise your safety."

"You think life is easy? Dealing with privileged and over funded people like... well, everyone in Newport," including himself, but who really needed to know that? "Anyway. Life is full of these little decisions, Oliver. Can I call you Oliver? Or do you prefer Arrow? Anyway. I learned in high school when I met Ryan that safety is overrated and sometimes life is worth risking.

"Besides, when I wake up from this awesome dream, and go to jot down ideas for my next issue, how bummed am I going to be if I just said 'you're right, I'll sit this one out.'"

Oliver couldn't stop himself from smiling, although even his smile had a hard edge to it, something dangerous in the eyes.

"Okay. You're sticking with us. You'll either come with me or guard Matt. Carol's hard to keep up with. And if you're going to stick around, call me Ollie."

"Look, I'm adventurous, but I'm not delusional. Well, not about this, anyway. But I don't have any abilities to offer you out there. If it's cool, I'll stick around and help make sure your friend has to move from his healing place as little as necessary."

Seth looked back and offered a crooked smile to Matt, then shrugged. "At least until you find a way to drug me or knock me out to make your escape."

"I'm not going to drug you or escape," Matt answered, a little indignant.

Oliver scratched Matt behind the ear.

Matt growled. "Seth, please tell him I'm not a cat."

"Yeah. You are." Ollie started scratching under Matt's chin, then pet his insane hair for a minute before straightening up. "Okay. I'm going after Wade." He tossed a wallet to Carol, who set it down on the table next to Matt.

"You two... aren't sleeping?" Matt asked, feeling guilty and useless. He started to get up, but when his face went white he swore and relaxed again.

"We did. A little. Earlier." Oliver started for the door, then looked at Seth. "You sure you can handle him? He gets grouchy."

With a short spurt of laughter, Seth waved Ollie's concern away. "Believe me. There's nothing quite as grouchy as the kid from Chino who's denied his bagel and coffee on a morning when his girlfriend is claiming she's boycotting the next fundraiser..."

Seth looked at all three, noticing the vacancy in regards to his reference, and then again waved Ollie toward the door. "What I'm saying is we'll be fine. I've dealt with worse."

Oliver considered this, smirked a little, and nodded. Considering how fussy he and Tommy had been when they were younger, he believed that Seth could handle it.

"Be nice to him, Matt. He's only nineteen."

"Bite me," Matt muttered.

Oliver and Carol left.

"Nine..." Seth's brows furrowed and he looked back at Matt. "I know I've got the ever handsome face of a young man, but I'm closer to 30 than 20..."

Shrugging, Seth moved to turn on the coffee pot. Because this was exactly what he needed while cooped up in a hotel with the daredevil: Caffeine.

"I know you've somehow spun a story where people think I'm a hero, but I want to apologize for handing you over to Hydra."

"I realized that later. About your age I mean. When you said... Ollie was just making fun of me, since I assumed you were a kid. I.. really don't know what you look like, but I.. sometimes underestimate ages.. uh.. by a lot. And.." he pushed himself somewhat more upright, although it wasn't as if he could watch Seth. Matt just hoped that his eyes were behaving; he kept his lids about half closed to be sure.

"You got me to the hospital to begin with. I needed it. Hydra aside, you got me where I needed to be. Surgery, setting and splinting my arm... I might not have made it if you hadn't gotten me there to begin with. I might've just... found some alley to curl up in and hide." And by might, Matt meant probably. "You didn't know they were there. Your intentions were good. That's what really matters."

The coffee smelled sharp and unpleasant, too old and too strong to ever be drinkable, but Matt suspected that to Seth, it probably smelled just fine. Enticing, even. He waited til the kid -- til the not kid was settled, then started talking again.

"So... you think you should call Ryan maybe? Let him know you're okay?"

"Ryan? I called him when I took you to the hospital. I think he figures that was probably somehow code for me hooking up with one of you, and so he doesn't really expect me to come home any time soon."

The coffee did, in fact, smell a little off, a little too old, too stale, to Seth too. But what he drank at home was ground fresh almost daily. It never lasted long enough to go stale. Still, it was something to do with his hands, something to drink.

With a styrofoam cup, he moved back to the bed where Matt was, considering finding somewhere else to sit but decided it didn't matter. "Do you want to sleep? Or I can see if there's some kind of movie on to listen to as background noise? Not that the entire hotel isn't likely background noise for you. I just don't know what to do with absolute silence?"

Matt shook his head. "Do whatever makes you comfortable. I'll probably drift in and out... but.. I'd really like to know more about you, if you don't mind talking for a while...?"

"I feel like this is a trick question. Talking about myself for hours on end is what I do best."

He laughed once, then winced. No more laughing.

"Well... maybe at least tell me how 'going to the hospital' could be code for a hookup?"

There was something oddly comforting about not having to guard his expressions or the looks of concern or disapproval.

"Well, when you're a teen, there are few stories you won't make up in order to get away from your parents for an hour or two. And Ryan? Well, he knows claiming to have to take someone to the hospital isn't out of my wheelhouse. Besides, I didn't tell him the truth about who you all are. He wouldn't believe me anyway. I just gave him a warning to be on the lookout for a Warlock looking guy -- then had to explain to him what that meant -- and told him I'd meet up with him later."

Matt had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again, not wanting the pain, but his smile made it abundantly clear that he was amused.

"You sound like you were trouble as a kid. Maybe still are."

"Actually, I was a loser as a kid. I didn't have friends to get me into trouble until Ryan came along."

His tone was pretty matter of fact, and lacked any real self pity.

"I get by without too much trouble, I think."

"No kid's a loser," Matt objected, quietly and a little sadly. "Friends or not... at least, that's one old man's opinion." Because at twenty-eight, he was clearly much, much older than Seth.

"No, it's alright, being self-absorbed has allotted me plenty of time to become self-aware as well." Seth didn't comment on the age thing, figuring if Murdock was in his early to mid thirties, and if he had, for some reason, thought Seth sounded like a 19-year-old, then there was likely a reasoning behind it.

"He is the only real friend I've ever had. Which, to be fair, we almost ruined more than once by dating, and he's technically my brother? By adoption. I apparently have no separation of church and state..."

This time Matt laughed, then groaned and swore and forced himself to lay flat again. "Fuck. Fucking. Fuck." Moving was intensely painful, but once he was completely flat again he started trying to relax once more.

"Sorry." Stop swearing, Matthew, he told himself.

"For what? I grew up in Orange County with a bunch of water polo playing morons who had no sense of a higher vocabulary." He shrugged. "Besides, there is a scientific study that claims that the use of expletives like 'fuck' is actually helpful when dealing with large amounts of pain."

Matt's eyebrows went up and he opened his mouth, about to say something, but realized that if he did, he'd just start laughing again, which would require more swearing, which would probably make him laugh more, which would probably kill him.

He cleared his throat and made himself focus instead. "Were your parents comfortable with the relationship? It sounds like something that might have been... difficult for many to swallow?"

"My dad was fine with it. My mom... we hid it from her for a while. But there are a limited number of reasons why she might have walked in on us naked in bed together, and on that day, I could think of none of them."

"That.... definitely seems like a difficult one to explain." Matt moved his broken arm around, trying to find a more comfortable position for it, then finally just rested it up alongside his head.

"How are you feeling, by the way? Are you really okay..?"

"I don't remember anything after hitting the woman with the IV rod. Not at all sure how we made it out of that room or what happened next. I just assume you're the hero. Makes for a more believable story anyway."

Seth settled down onto his side, one hand tucked under the pillow. "But I wasn't injured. So you've nothing to worry about."

"You don't consider cobra venom an injury?" Matt asked, speaking a little more quietly now. "And I didn't wake up until you had me in the hall. You wheeled me out in the bed.. I was strapped down.. you were already feeling the venom I think, and you got me free of the restraints and helped me up before you started to go down.. you were in and out of consciousness, we got back down to the ER... you were.. really out of it -- hallucinating red walls.. but you still tried to make them help me first. You fought to keep us from being separated, you didn't even seem afraid of what was happening to you.

"You were pretty brave, Seth. No matter how much you want to downplay it."

A crooked smile slanted across Seth's lips at the last comment. The rest of it? Felt like Matt was talking about someone else. "What nerdy -kid- doesn't want to find a way to save a super hero's life?"

"Well since I'm not a superhero, you'll have to wait til Ollie or Carol gets in trouble," he said, half in earnest and half teasing.

Seth pulled out his phone from his pocket, typing away for a breath of a moment, and then smirking.

"Daredevil is a fictional superhero appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics. Daredevil was created by writer-editor Stan Lee and artist Bill Everett, with an unspecified amount of input from Jack Kirby. The character first appeared in Daredevil #1 in April 1964."

He looked over up at Matt, his own brows raised. "The Marvel universe agrees with me, Matt. Deal with it."

"1964 though? I'm only twenty-eight. So I've got a few more years of being a confused, aggressive vigilante before anyone starts making action figures. I hope."

The last two words sounded lighthearted, like all he hoped for was more time before star status, but the truth was that he hoped he had a few more years at all.

"What got you so into comics?"

"Told you. I was a bit of a lo-- loner as a kid. So people like you and Ollie and Barry Allen. You were my friends. Besides, I was pretty sheltered. There is little that is ever dark in Newport. So living vicariously through you all. That's how I spent my nights. That's how I got adventure."

The words made Matt feel strange. He knew that it wasn't real, that the comics really had nothing to do with him, no matter closely aligned the details seemed to be. None of it was real. He wasn't the one who kept a lonely kid company and helped inspire his creativity. *He* didn't inspire people. All he did was frighten them. Still. The notion of ever being able to really help someone's happiness, not just to protect their body, it gave him a sad yearning.

"Maybe I can live up to your Daredevil some day," he murmured.

"Honestly, you've surpassed it. But then, I never expected to receive friendly words from, or to be saved by you. But this fourth wall breaking is more Wade Wilson's style and we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Seth let his eyes drift close, but he wasn't close to sleeping. "What about you? I'd like to hear things I don't know. Like the whole crossover that I happened upon."

"The... what?" Matt was lost.

"You and Oliver Queen? Or even, you and Carol and Oliver. He's..." Seth let out a sigh, trying to make this simple. "You and Carol are from one of the major comic distributors. One of the major universes. Oliver is from another. Are you telling me there's a world where you all just run around Willy nilly?"

Matt had to process this for a few minutes before he could really understand what he was being asked.

"We... live in the same world, yes. We met when he was arrested in New York. He saved a group of children from a shooting situation, but one of the other gunmen claimed Oliver had been working with them from the beginning. Well. The... only surviving gunman. Oliver killed the rest of them that day. He was struggling to come back... and was assaulted in the prison. I got him released, with a tracker, and... he just needed so badly to have someone understand him and let him set boundaries, let him... be broken. Without treating him like he was. I don't know if that's... what you were looking to hear..?"

It was more than he'd asked for, or so he thought. But Seth didn't mind the over share. It a strange way, it made sense that they... well, maybe they weren't together? Maybe they were. It didn't really matter. All that Seth really wanted to know was that one of them hadn't gone looking for Earth Two or something, and therefore found the other. But together, whatever universe they were from, it was the same one.

"Okay, but locker room talk? Because I've never gotten to do it before. Which of your... kind? I don't know what to call you. Advanced humans, heroes, vigilantes, whatever. Which of you is the biggest tool. Because I always figured it would be Stark."

Matt's expression probably said it all: at Stark's name, his smiles vanished entirely.

"Probably," he agreed. "I've never met him, though. Just met his teammates after he tears them up. I'm sure he... is a hero. It's just hard to admire someone who doesn't respect the people that risk their lives along with him."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. Did you... want to know anything else? Would you like me to let you sleep?"

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry. I've just... Steve and Carol are good people. And Tony.. l. He's the toxic friend that just.. robs them of happiness every time. We can talk about other things though, if you want. I get... protective. Of them."

"It's good. I mean, it's good to be protective of friends. Sometimes that's all that keeps them alive." Seth rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

"It's not 1992 where you are, is it? Like. Cell phones and watches you can send text messages from aren't foreign concepts to you, are they?"

Matt turned his face towards Seth. "Did someone..." but he stopped the question before it could finish leaving his lips.

"No, it's 2017. Smart phones are great. Clinton won the presidency."

"Oh, fuck you."

"What did I do???"

"Trump is the president here. What are the odds that I can talk you all into taking me back with you?

"Though, my father will want to come, because he's convinced the world is ending."

"He... but... how.... I mean.. yeah. Come with us and you run the risk of getting murdered by aliens with... apparently more frequency than you do here, but... how the hell did Trump win?"

"The Russians, man. They own this planet." Maybe that wasn't an appropriate joke for someone who doesn't actually know how this planet worked, but they'd work it out. "Anyway. What's a little alien danger compared to a man like that."

"True," he said, maybe a little too emphatically. "Or maybe this is Adam's plan -- give your world something other than itself to fear, to teach it tolerance."

"You call him Adam like he's nothing special." Seth laughed, stretching his arms above his head.

"Okay, serious question. Do you have spare time that you like... practice chess or whittle or whatever? Do super heroes have hobbies?"

"Others, maybe.. I uh.. I work about sixty hours a week, a lot of it unpaid.. when we can pay our bills, and if I don't feel like I.. have to go out that night.. I work out. Train... or sleep. I don't really, uh, have much of a life.." a wry smile touched his lips. "So who's the loser here now?

"What about you though? When you're not doing art, what do you enjoy?"

"Um... skateboarding, I guess. Hanging out at the pier. Reading. Playing the play station. That kinda thing. I don't do much by way of physical activity, I guess. Mostly I write and draw."

He shrugged. "I asked you about hobbies. You said work and exercise. But are there things you enjoy? Infinity pools? Autumn? The sound of the city?"

Matt was quiet for a long time. If he was going to answer this, he was going to do it honestly, but he knew most people didn't really want honesty. They wanted easy answers. Still, Seth seemed to know more about Matt's own history than anyone else in his life did, other than maybe Elektra, and he was still here, willing to talk... maybe he wouldn't mind the truth.

"I like... the quiet. It's hard to find quiet places, but when I do... it's nice. I like touching smooth things, like glass or metal or a cat. Things that don't snag at all. I like the smell of rain on a hot summer afternoon. And I have this... fantasy, that one day I'll go to Arizona and hike out into the desert and just.. be there. Away from all the city noises, the roads, and it'll be... quiet. Hot. Clean -- cleaner than the city."

In an instant, realizing how much he really had said, Matt looked embarrassed. "I mean I like getting a drink with Foggy and Karen too, of course." Lame. Lame recovery, Murdock.

"Would it be weird if I asked to take you back to my place? It's late now, sure. But I think... I'm not hitting on you. I just want to show you something."

It would be just under a two hour drive back to Newport. And he couldn't offer the rain. But hopefully there would be something he could give.

The thought that Seth would have hit on him at all hadn't occurred to Matt, who assumed he was taken, and the assurance surprised him. Still, he nodded.

"Sure.. can you leave a note though? In case one of them comes back? My uh, handwriting is... pretty atrocious."

He wanted to ask what was there, and part of him just really wanted to stay here, but Seth had gone through so much for them already. The least he could do was humor this one request.

There was a notebook and pen in the nightstand, and Seth left a note. He then made a quick run to the restroom and then moved to the side of the bed to offer Matt his arm.

With quiet instructions about obstacles, Seth led Matt out of the hotel and back to the car that... who the hell had driven it here? One hit of the button told him it was, in fact, his car. "Would you like the backseat again? So you don't have to sit up the whole way?"

"No, if it's okay," Matt said, although there was pain in his voice, "I'd like to sit with you." He appreciated that Seth just understood how his senses worked, and that when Matt was like this -- hurting, worn thin -- his body all but shut down, taking him back to a more 'normal' human state. He needed the guidance. Hell, he needed his cane, and hated not having it.

In the car, Seth kept the music low, and flipped to a classical station. It was either that or some Spanish station. His Death Cab CD had finally bit the dust.

"Are you comfortable? The ride is going to take a while." He looked over at the man in the passenger seat.

"I'm Catholic," Matt said, smiling. "A little suffering is good for the soul."

"So a catholic and a Jew are in a car down a deserted highway." Seth smirked. "Man, that's not even the beginning of a good joke."

Before they were able to make it out of town, however, Seth reached over to touch Matt's arm. "Are you hungry?"

"....well I wasn't before, but now that you had to go and mention it, yes. Dick." He raised his hand and brushed his fingers against Seth's wrist for just a moment, worried that calling him a dick was too much.

But Seth laughed, pulling his hand free a beat after he felt the finger tips on his wrist. "And here I thought I was being nice." He pulled down a side road on the northern outskirts of San Diego, weighing their options.

"Preferences? You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"No." Matt shook his head. "I'm not. I'm a vegan. Nothing but plants that willingly sacrifice themselves and are farmed without pain."

"Oh, now who's being a dick. Sucks for you that this In and Out clearly sacrifices their first born cows to you like the Jews to god. And that's your only option." He chuckled and pulled up to the drive thru. "What would you like?"

"Something spicy and chickeny if they have it.. and water. If they have it. This is still California, I know it's scarce here.."

Ordering accordingly was fairly easy, including the water, which came in the same, rectangular Fiji bottle that his house was always stocked with.

Then it was time to hit the 405 and head north toward home. The car turned quiet while they ate, and after that, Seth didn't much feel his typical need to fill the silence.

The drive felt easier than he'd expected it to, and as they pulled into his driveway, he could see the sun just beginning to rise at the horizon.

Matt had eaten very slowly, more to continue distracting himself from the pain than to satisfy the hunger. When they had both finished and things went quiet, he closed his eyes and focused on keeping his breathing even, controlled. He let his mind go quiet next, and eventually even managed to drift off, not to wake until the car stopped.

When it did, he lifted his head. "Are we there...?" Matt sounded half awake at best.

"We are," Seth replied, climbing out of the car and going around to help Matt out. He guided him up the steps, through the front door and then to the left through the kitchen and out the back doors. His gaze lingered on the pool house where Ryan once stayed, back when they lived here with his parents. But that was years ago now. His parents lived in Berkeley. And they'd left this place to Seth, should he want it.

It was too much house. But it was also home.

"How opposed are you to getting these clothes wet?"

Matt had to stop and lean against a wall. He was puzzled by the question, and he reached down again to check his surgery dressing. Water resistant, he thought, running his fingers over it before putting his shirt back down.

"Alright." He felt a little lightheaded and sick, but he'd had far worse. Matt straightened up, ignoring the shaking limbs. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry. We're almost there." This time, Seth took Matt by the hands. It was hot and damn near suffocating, even this early in the morning. Southern California was unforgiving, though, but that was why damn near every house had a pool.

There were floating chairs he would offer in a bit, but for now he led Matt into the water, and then gently nudged for him to relax back.

"You won't get lucky enough for rainfall, I think. But if you float, and you let the water... it's the heat of the desert, and the silence that being submersed in water can offer. It's clean. And there is no threat to your safety. Just relax back. I've got you."

He'd tensed at first upon being walked to the edge of the pool, but he hadn't pulled his hands away. Having come this far, it seemed ridiculous to back out now. He nodded and followed his host in, moving very quietly into the water, reluctant to make splashes.

"I thought it.. was going to be something for you," Matt said, still upright. He never spent much time in water, and while he could swim, it always felt foreign. The public pools in New York always smelled like sewage to him, combined with overpowering chlorine. The latter was here, but not so strongly, not with the open air and the heat of the sun.

Eventually, he accepted the urging and lay back in the water. He was tense at first, struggling to convince himself to just relax and *be* here, but once he did, he was grateful.

The heat of the sun warmed his black-clad body through and through. The water amplified every sound in it, from the little ripples to the beating of Seth's heart. It pulsated and, because of the feeling of the sunlight, Matt instantly associated it with gold. He remembered gold... or at least he thought he did.

Matt swallowed hard against the angry despair that always came from those tiny little doubts, and he made himself relax again. Focus on floating, on his friend's heartbeat, on the ever-shifting surface of the water, the temperatures within...

It was nice. Very, very nice. He didn't quite know how to completely relax here, instinct constantly trying to tell him that he would fall, but what he could manage was good enough.

"Thank you..."

"It's not rain. And I know there is a comfort in familiar places -- which this certainly is not, but I hope you'll relax here for a while. And... I'm shutting up now."

Seth reached for one of the floating chairs and propped himself up in it, his own soaked clothes and all, and then just kept an eye on Matt, making sure his expression wasn't one of complete anguish at having to oblige the too nice 'kid' by doing something he hated.

After some time, he finally spoke again. "I also thought... well, a hotel in the center of a city in the middle of Comic Con? Getting out of there might help you clear your head. I'll take you back whenever you want, though."

"You don't have to... do all of this you know. I mean I appreciate it, I do, I just.."

Matt went and climbed out when he felt some of the water finally trickle under the bandage. He pulled his shirt off, wrung it out, then lay it flat on the concrete next to himself. Every movement seemed to take far more energy than it should have, so he just sat still, arms wrapped around his legs, quietly folding in against the pain.

"I just don't want you going to any trouble for me..." but he knew that was always the kind of thing that led to uncomfortable protestations, so he was quick to ask: "what.. what does it look like? Everything here?"

Seth hadn't meant for it to be trouble. Or for it to seem like trouble. All this was for him was coming home. But, he was tired, and had no interest in trying to tell Matt that this should feel like home to him to. Because things didn't work that way. So he let the protestation go without comment.

"Keep in mind that..." what, that he was given the house? That would make him seem worse than if he'd worked for it. "This was my parents house. It's... over 6,000 square feet. Vaulted ceilings. That kind of thing. But the back yard. That's the best part. The pool is an infinity pool. So the far edge drops off straight into the horizon. The rising sun is orange and red. Pinks and purples fade further out toward the water."

He closed his eyes, starting to feel the fatigue of the past couple days. Not just with the super crew. But just being at Comic Con. He was exhausted. "Would you like to sleep? There are plenty of rooms to sleep by yourself. Or, since this place is foreign to you, I can stay nearby. I know I told you I'd take you back. But I have to sleep before we drive again."

Matt sighed with relief at hearing that Seth needed to sleep first; it was a reassurance that Seth wasn't giving too much up. He had never really learned how to emotionally accept kindness, however much he might need it, and it made it much, much easier when it served someone else's needs.

"Sleep would be great. If you don't mind just.. letting me close enough to hear your heartbeat? If that... isn't too invasive or. You know. Weird."

"Not weird. It makes sense." Seth felt like he'd known Matt his whole life. Which he knew was an unfair advantage for him. He felt comfortable with this man and his abilities.

"But, I don't know how close that is. In the room? We can just use the pool house. It's the fewest stairs. Which I think you need."

"In the room, unless the walls are thin... usually, just being in the same house is enough but I'm not.. not up to normal.. standards. Sorry. And -- thank you. For this. For the -- moment of peace."

"Yeah, man. I hope it was enough." Seth climbed from the pool and reached to offer Matt his hand. He helped him up, and then supported his weight the whole way to the pool house.

Inside, there was a bathroom in the back left corner. A set of wicker drawers on shelves. A small sort of kitchenette that wasn't stocked, and then a California king (of course) sized mattress on a boxed frame on the floor.

"Take the bed. I'm going to get out of these clothes. And then I'll crash on the floor."

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," Matt said, the guilt returning. "The bed's..." he put his fingertips on it and took a few steps. "Definitely big enough. And if you're worried that I'll... make a move on you, I won't." Matt found somewhere to hang his wet things up and did so, moving carefully. The last thing he wanted to do right now was trip and fall in the unfamiliar place, reopen his injuries, and be more of a burden on Seth.

Clothes drip-drying, Matt carefully put the splint back on his broken arm, chest tightening a little at the deep, throbbing pain. Once the splint was firmly velcroed back in place, he cautiously climbed into the bed. It felt amazing, too amazing, and he sighed quietly, happily, and took a moment to just enjoy it. He really shouldn't have gone swimming, not in the state he was in, but it was all so different, so nice, so distracting. The pool, the company that knew him so well and yet still bothered to be kind, the comfortable bed. He didn't feel like he deserved any of this, but Matt admitted to himself that he was too selfish to want to give any of this comfort up.

Seth only nodded, went to the bathroom to hang his clothes over the shower rod, and then returned with a towel wrapped around his waist. This was why he'd been offering to sleep on the floor. Not because of any notion he had that Matt would end up wanting him, but because he'd be in nothing but a towel. But if he stayed on his side of the bed, Matt didn't have to even know, he supposed.

He smiled as he saw Matt already comfortable in the bed, and he climbed into the other side. He scooted just a little closer, now basically laying in the middle of the bed. so he was sure Matt would hear his heartbeat.

The blinds were drawn on the doors, so at least some light was kept at bay, but Seth longed for the darkness nonetheless. "Anything else before we pass out?"

"Hope you aren't offended by me being naked," Matt said, lifting his face from the pillow he'd had it half pressed into. "Otherwise... this bed is amazing... and I'm never leaving." He rubbed his cheek on the pillow.

His eyes were already closed, and he'd wiggled out of the towel, tossing back onto the floor. "Naked is fine," he replied, rolling onto his side, and falling asleep within moments.

It took Matt longer to sleep. Once he found Seth's heartbeat, he settled into it and relaxed again, as best he could in a strange place, then finally slipped away

The longer he slept, the louder Seth's heart seemed to get. When Matt woke in the late afternoon, it was a drum, accompanied by the whooshing of air into his lungs and the rushing of blood moving through his veins. Matt lay still for a long time, just enjoying it, but finally had to get up.

He felt stronger than before. Not recovered completely, which would take weeks, just not like he was in danger of falling from just one step. Still, he moved carefully and quietly.

After using the bathroom, Matt got dressed, then went back outside. He found the edge of the pool and walked it, barefoot, until he came to where it dropped away. Then, Matt walked out on the submerged part of the wall. He stopped in the middle and just listened.

Sounds bounced off the smooth surface of the water behind him. Behind him, there was the massive house. A friend. The sun beat down on the stone, creating an oven. It was nice.

But in front of him? A sense of great space. Emptiness -- but not just the same as when he was on a rooftop. The ocean was out there. The ocean. Vastness itself. Daunting. Intimidating. Beautiful to look at, so many people said, but Matt didn't know. He'd never seen the Pacific. He never would. He would associate it with a friend's heart and with a hot morning of silence. He would think of the Pacific as a place where sadness and gratitude blended together. For him, the ocean would look like this moment, at least until he made a new memory of it -- but his companion's heartbeat would always be part of it.

Eventually, hurting too much and starting to shake, Matt carefully made his way back into the pool-house.

When Matt had gotten up, Seth had started to stir, but the quiet closing of the door as Matt left the pool house that he finally managed to open his eyes. He didn’t immediately stir from bed, figuring if Matt needed help, he would have said so. Or, if he at least needed a guide around the place. But when he took a while to come back, Seth finally grumbled, sat up — his curls in complete disarray — and went to the door. He watched as Matt stood at the edge and remembered doing that a time or to as a young kid. He never stood on the wall, but in the edge of the pool, looking out at forever.

“Did you sleep well?” Seth asked when Matt returned, pulling his phone out to see if he had any missed called from Ryan, Carol or Ollie. “Are you hungry? We have bagels.”

"No, thanks," Matt answered, his voice sounding worn again as he came and carefully stretched out on the bed once more. He was sweating lightly and just hoped that Seth would think it was from the sun, not from pain.

"And I slept okay. This is... it's a lot nicer than the hotel. Thank you. It's... tranquil here." Yeah, Murdock, get all poetic why don't you? Matt rested the broken arm on his chest. "What uh, what about you? Did you sleep okay?"

“Yeah, well enough.” Seth settled back onto the bed, suddenly wondering why he hadn’t thought to put clothes on while he had been up, checking on Matt through the door. Oh well. Again, it wasn’t as if Matt would _see_ him naked. What did it currently matter?

“I haven’t slept in the pool house in some time. Years, actually. It was never my room, but even though I still live here… it’s strange for this place to be inhabited again. Even if it’s for a night.”

"Is it weird to be in here? Are you okay?" Matt turned his face towards Seth. "And if you need to go eat, don't feel like you.. have to stay here, or wait with me or anything... I mean I'd honestly really like to hear more about you, but just... take care of yourself first.." saying it felt lame and awkward, and Matt already wished he hadn't. He was goddamn terrified of ending up as someone's charity case -- something he hoped wasn't in the comics. All too often, people made too many concessions for him because he was blind, gave up too much to make his life easier, and while he appreciated it, he just didn't know how to take it without guilt, without fear that he'd truly become a burden, the sort they'd never cut free because they'd be too ashamed to abandon him.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll have coffee and bagel after bit. I’m jewish, I don’t go without the bagel and schmear.” He chuckled and looked down at his hands. Seth knew well enough that he wasn’t the most interesting person. He’d spent his life reading comics and sailing and… Well, all the things nobody else wanted to participate in. Which was why, in much of high school, before Ryan got there, he had been president and sole member of many of the schools extra-curricular activities. He tried to shrug the uncertainty off. But he’d never -truly- learned how to bite his tongue.

“I know… you would likely rather be helping the other two. And this place is kinda lame. Nothing exciting here. But I’m glad you let me bring you back here. No wonder you think I’m a kid. I can’t stop talking to you like a hero — like I’m star struck. But I am. Because I know what you do. I know who you are. And that’s… Well, you’re giving me the time of day, and that’s pretty great, if you ask me.”

Matt didn't understand how Seth could be so grateful for attention that he'd praise anything at all, but the thought hurt him. Seth was kind, and anyone kind deserved attention. He shook his head once, then flexed his hand carefully, moving his arm a little inside the splint.

"It feels... this is weird. Knowing that you know more about me than anyone, but you're still -- here. You even know about Ele... about her. Even Foggy doesn't know that. You.. I wish I could be the hero you know. Teach you some combat or... be able to walk next to you, rather than needing to lean on you.. but, and this is.. just pure selfishness... I'm also kind of glad. To know you, I mean. To have been hurt so that we ended up.. here. A stone's throw from the ocean. A world away from the city.

"It.." Matt was quiet for a moment, but found his resolve and went on. "It seems like you got overlooked a lot. Too much. But the people who chose not to see you, or choose not to... they're the losers. They... I know you're not a kid, now. That... wasn't because I thought you were immature. It's because I'm... jaded. And subconsciously equate the relative innocence of others with youth. If it.. if you're hurt, at all hurt, that I.. thought that... I never meant for it to hurt you."

"No. I'm not offended. Or hurt. I talk a lot, and often about very few relevant things other than myself." He smirked, but of course the expression went unnoticed.

"And yeah, I know about her. Knew a girl kinda like that once. Well, in her own way, I suppose. She's Little Miss Vixen now, in my comics. And, as if it's not enough that I appreciate the kind of man you are, and as if I'm not self absorbed enough, I'm going to relate with you and say I, too, had my run with my Elektra. But after she moved to Rhode Island to attend Brown, she never seemed to miss the sun enough to come back."

Seth couldn't blame her. She'd found herself in college. She'd grown. And he was genuinely happy for her.

"My past is not something to be sympathetic toward. Sure, I was lonely, and a bit of an outcast. But my parents loved me. And I eventually found the best friend who became my literal brother," and lover, for a stint of time, "but I managed."

It took effort to take a breath between thoughts, so it didn't feel like such a non-sequitur.

"You know, you can trust Foggy with your truth."

"About Elektra?" Matt shook his head. "He only just found out about.. everything else. I'll tell him... eventually I'll tell him, I'm just -- scared. Honestly. He was so angry and hurt last time, I'm scared of telling him... that while he and I were first becoming friends, someone almost stole my soul. I almost let her have it. He could.. probably use more time before i hurt him again... and... i'm just making excuses."

Thinking about her always left Matt feeling sick, made his skin crawl, and it showed. "I'm sorry you had an Elektra in your life. Love is nice while it lasts, but when it's... with someone who wants to destroy you, remake you in their image.. it's hard to get over... a lot of.. darker feelings."

After a long moment of silence, Matt asked, "So what's the deal with your parents now? Are they... not in the picture anymore?"

"They're in Berkeley. It was a home they lived in together before my mom started working for my grandpa's housing development business. But when he passed, and Ryan and I graduated, they didn't really feel the need to stay here."

Seth shrugged and relaxed back on the bed, his eyes closing, pulse slowing as he relaxed. He wouldn't sleep again, but he could find a nice meditative state, even while talking.

"I go see them at least once a month. They're good people, my parents. I always believed they were better than this town deserved."

"They must be good, to have raised such a good man. Or, two good men, I guess... tell me more about Ryan? The things you love most about him, what you think he loves about you, that kind of thing?"

As Seth relaxed, Matt felt himself relaxing in turn, his body setting itself into sync with the other.

"Ryan? He's from Chino. Which, is the rough neighborhood. He was one of my dad's clients when we first met. He had been arrested for stealing a car with his brother. And my dad was his public defender. But for some reason? Dad decided to bring him home. He couldn't be released without a guardian, and his mom was a flake and nowhere to be found.

"Anyway, he ran into Marissa, when she lived next door, and she invited him to some fashion show. That started their whirlwind romance. On again, off again teen drama. We all got so swept up in it. But she was a good person, a good soul. She just... her mother was a bit intolerable. And her dad was an investment broker, I think? I don't remember. It was a long time ago and it was before we were really friends, anyway, her dad stole millions of dollars from his clients, which happened to be the parents of her friends, and all hell broke lose.

"Back to Ryan. Right. On our first night, we went to the fashion show that -he- was invited to, not me, and then went to an after party, again, he was invited, and then we got into a fight with the water polo team. Mom walked into me passed out in the pool house hung over and with a black eye. And that was the start of our friendship."

Matt laughed softly at the picture Seth painted and he shook his head. "I'm glad you have each other. It sounds like something made to last."

Seth smiled. "He taught me how to stand up for myself. I... think I taught him how to let people in. He's my best friend. And always will be."

"I can see how you would have taught him that," Matt said sincerely, then fell quiet. He wasn't sure what else to ask anymore, and it was so easy to just enjoy Seth's heart.

Seth, too, was surprisingly quiet for a beat. "What about you. I mean, I know about Foggy. I know how you became friends. And I know about Karen, even. But think of the graphic novels as an episode of television. There are always holes. Behind the scenes, things. So tell me more about him?"

"He's... the kindest person I know. He tries to pretend not to be.. he acts tough, sometimes, but his heart is.. it's pure. Good. Foggy.. makes people feel loved and appreciated just by talking to them. It's like he can touch your hear without even trying. When he's happy, he makes the people around him happy, too. He's sweet. He's so...damn sweet.."

"He sounds better than he's written. Which, I suppose is the case with most humans. A written biography hardly ever does a person justice. Or it only highlights the good parts."

Rolling onto his side, Seth tucked a hand under his pillow and looked sleepily at Matt. "What do you hope the graphic novels got wrong about you?"

"I guess I hope.. that I'm less afraid in them. Braver, maybe."

"Being afraid dies not make you less brave. The opposite is true, in my opinion. It takes pushing through fear to qualify as an action being brace. Otherwise... there is no fear of my toothbrush, or my toothpaste. So the act of brushing my teeth does not require bravery." Seth shrugged, still watching Matt. "So you can only have one or the other. More bravery, or less fear.”

Matt was quiet, thinking of all the times Stick had told him to stop being afraid, all the times Elektra had mocked his fear of becoming evil. Fear wasn't okay, not for people like them, but some part of him still clung to the words Seth said, although he still felt like the kid -- no, like the other man was giving him too much credit.

"It's not... getting hurt that I'm afraid of.. my body's just -- a means to an end. It's... the fear of waking up one morning having gone deaf.. or the fear that.. I'm a burden to the people in my personal life... that... they'd really be better off without me, but I'm too -- cowardly to go. That's... what I hope the comics don't write about. I hope they let kids have a hero... not.. a jaded coward." There was too much bitterness behind his words and he knew he'd gone too far, offered too much truth. Nobody ever wanted that. So, with a small grimace, Matt quickly added, "Sorry."

"I have a question, Matt, and you don't have to answer, if it's too much, or however you want to think of it. But... are the civilians of Hell's Kitchen a burden?" He already thought he knew how Matt would answer it, but he wanted to give him the opportunity to respond however he wanted. Free of judgement.

Matt frowned. "No, of course not, they're just people."

"Why do you deserve less compassion?"

Matt understood, but he didn't know what to say. He was quiet for a long, long time, thinking about this -- about how Seth's sentiments echoed what was taught in the church, about how Matt would have said the same for anyone else. He thought about how irrational fears were and how necessary strength was -- strength like this, like Seth had.

Eventually, he curled up on his left side since it was relatively uninjured, facing Seth, and touched his forehead to the other's chest. That seemed to be all he wanted, for Matt simply went still and quiet after that -- seeking peace, seeking something quiet outside of him, some calmer than the storm always within. He wondered if Seth knew just how valuable his wisdom was -- and if he understood how profoundly fucked up most vigilantes were.

Seth hadn’t really expected the contact, but he didn’t shy away from it either. The silence, however, was something he -had- expected. Once Ryan’s residence within the Cohen home had become more of a permanent thing, Ryan had had to learn what it was like to live with loving parents who -wanted- to spoil their children. And he’d had to learn what it felt like to have people care that he succeeded, and wanted to give him every means to do so. Essentially, Seth had had to teach Ryan how to allow himself to be spoiled.

But with Matt… allowing yourself to believe that people who were offering kindness were not burdening themselves, was not the same thing as being spoiled. It was giving other people credit to be just a generous and warm hearted as Matt was himself. Seth knew that no matter the situation, Matt would give anything to Foggy or Karen, Ollie or Carol — anything in his power for the ones he cared for. So why was it so difficult to believe they would return the sentiment? Practicality, it seemed, was a difficult thing to come by.

Gently, his hand lifted so that he could run fingers through Matt’s hair, and he closed his eyes against the lowering California sun. If Matt allowed nobody else to show him a little compassion, Seth wanted to make sure he wasn’t left wandering what it truly felt like.

Matt fell asleep again as Seth stroked his hair. The compassion was overwhelming, especially as exhausted as he was, and all his body knew to do with it was sleep.

When he woke, the sun was long-since set and the night was cooler. Matt rolled onto his back with a soft sigh of pain, but he reveled in how relaxed he felt. Seth was a miracle worker, it seemed.

For a few minutes, he just laid still and thought about everything that had happened. He worried about the others, he tried to make himself accept that Seth wasn't angry about having to care for a stranger. His mind wandered. He could smell Seth's breakfast, which brought a small smile to his face.

Matt had just gotten up to go and find the not-kid when things changed. He wasn't sure exactly what it was but in an instant, he felt threatened. Matt moved swiftly to a wall and went still -- he didn't even know if there were lights on in here. He didn't hear any buzzing from overhead, but that didn't mean light wasn't streaming in from the windows...

What the hell was happening?

When he heard another heartbeat and a soft step, Matt quickly tied his blindfold on. He was dressed from earlier, but still barefoot. No matter. He pulled his sticks from their sheath on his thigh and focused intently on what was happening.

Seth. Kitchen. Another building. Safe so far.

A stealthy step, a steady heartbeat, the faint scent of rot, of oil, steel, gunpowder.

Deadpool.

Fuck.

Matt's lip curled but he held his position a moment longer, listening. Deadpool was creeping towards the main house, probably drawn by lights...

This was going to hurt, but fuck it.

Matt stepped out of the pool-house and into the open, sticks in both hands. He prayed Seth would have no idea what was happening out here, and that if he did? He'd have the sense to hide.

"What do you want?" He asked, his voice taking on its harder edge.

"Oh, you know. A really cute bikini body. A massage from Natey-poo -- and by massage I mean with his dick.

That kid's head on a pike.." the playfulness was there in Wade's voice, but something in it sounded empty. Different than the man they'd fought earlier.

Matt's skin crawled. "Leave."

"Can't."

"Something's wrong with you. What has he done to you, Wade?" Matt moved as he spoke, picking a place that, if Wade fired, hopefully no bullets would ricochet and hurt Seth. /Please hide, Seth. God, please keep him safe./ Matt's mouth felt dry.

"He who? He haw? Did you just make a donkey pun? No. You made me make a donkey pun! Ooooh, Daredevil, you little minx!" He reached for his pistols, but something in him pushed the thought away. Guns would kill the devil, and he didn't want him dead. Not really. /Then why do I feel like I've been brainwashed into a murder machine by Thanos and Adam? Huh. Weird/. Without another word, Wade drew both katanas and somersaulted over to the Devil. "Nothing personal! Just gotta kill you!"

After that, even if Seth hadn't heard them talking, there'd be no way he missed the sounds of the fight.

Seth had left the doors open to the main house, hoping it would be enough that he would at least be able to hear when Matt stirred once more. But he had grown hungry, and something about sleeping all day had given him a craving for a decent breakfast meal.

He had been in the middle of pulling bacon off the skillet when he heard voices.

Wait. Voices?

With a piece of bacon hanging out of his mouth, he moved toward the door, stopping short when he saw Deadpool. How in the -fuck?-

The most recent film adaptation had emphasized the heart behind the man. But Seth knew the level of crazy Wade Wilson possessed. And, it seemed, he was squaring up against Matt. Fuck.

Fuck fuck.

He moved back inside, ducking down and trying to essentially crawl toward the stairs leading up to his room. When he'd made it halfway up them, he pulled his phone out, did a quick internet search, and then dialed the number for the hotel, asking for Carol and Oliver's room, if they were even still there. They couldn't get here quickly, he figured. But maybe Matt could hold them off.

The phone in their room rang and rang and rang, but no one answered.

Outside, Matt knew he was going to lose, but it didn't matter. If Wade had instructions to kill whoever helped them, whoever was a threat to this master plan, so be it. He'd buy Seth as much time to escape as he could. Seth had a car and a brain, he'd be okay. He had to be. Protecting him was the only way Matt could ever repay him -- even though, he thought cynically, it was his fault Seth was in danger.

Accepting his death was liberating. Matt let go of his own pain and fear and embraced the fight. Wade might be virtually indestructible, but he'd never come up against Daredevil before. Not alone. Last time, he'd had an alien force to help fight the three, and now? Matt was determined to make him see that he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

As for Wade? He was used to being the baddest guy in a fight. He wasn't used to the silent rage that filled this sexy little nutbag. If he didn't have a job to do, he might just get on his knees and offer to suck him off -- but he had a job to do. Roight. Crikeyfuck.

Wade didn't see the next blow coming. He should have, since he could /see/, but it came too quickly. The hard little goddamn sticks smashed into his hands, breaking both.

"Mother fuckstick!!!" His swords dropped with a clatter and he yowled, then knocked Matt into the pool and dragged him down, down, down to the bottom.

I'll be fine. But you. Cocksucker. Fuck. You.

Soon enough, everything went quiet.

Long minutes later, longer than it should have been, Matt drifted to the surface. He made it to the ladder, made it out of the pool, then collapsed to his knees, unable to take another step yet, listening for Seth.

Please be gone... please be gone...

When the phone had proved useless, and Seth had left a singular message with the receptionist -- Wade -- he thought about what to do next. Wade Wilson was, save for a nuclear blast (and even that might not kill him) indestructible. But he was also not a bad guy. Not a bad person. He had his enemies, but when had they become a part of the Marvel heroes instead of Francis and his fuckwads?

It didn't matter. As dumb as he knew this reasoning was, he couldn't leave Matt alone. Besides, where would he go. He had listened to them fight, watched as they'd gone underwater, and his stomach twisted when Matt didn't soon resurface. Seth sat in his kitchen floor, the door still open, the stove and waffle maker still hot.

How did he tell Carol and Ollie that he'd gotten their friend killed by taking Matt so far away from any hope of help?

It took a few minutes for the pounding in Matt's head to calm. When it did, when he heard Seth's heartbeat back in the kitchen, he whispered a very quiet swear. This little shit. Little fucking brave shit.

There really was no time to be angry, though. Wade would wake again soon enough, and this whole thing would start over.

"Seth.." Fuck. His voice was too hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again, managing to be a little louder this time. "Seth.. do you have rope? Or.. a lot of... tape?" Matt somehow managed to push himself to his feet, although he wasn't convinced he'd stay there long.

Crawling toward the double doors on his hands and knees, he peeked around the corner and let out a breath of relief when he saw Matt standing there.

"I mean, yeah. The rope I usually use on my boat is in a drawer in the pool house. There are also a set of handcuffs in here somewhere. Though I imagine those won't do much."

"Let's... use both," Matt said, hesitating when he thought to wonder just why Seth had handcuffs. "Can you... get them? And a sheet. And... bricks or rocks or free weights... I'll..." pass out. No. No, I won't pass out. "Be here... for when he gets out.."

The first thing Seth grabbed was a chair from the patio. They'd probably need it anyway, right? In the meantime, he was certain Matt needed it now. Then he ran around his house, stumbling over and ottoman all but falling to his face when he ran back out to the pool house. But finally he had everything. Rocks, large, from the edge of the driveway. The handcuffs, the rope, and a sheet AND a tarp.

"Tell me what to do?"

Matt would have collapsed on the ground if Seth hadn't brought the chair out. It seemed like such a strange thing to do, but Matt was grateful.

"Lay the sheet out flat? Then.. We just.. wait for him to come back up.. then... I'll try to subdue him. Cuffs first, we'll put him in the sheet, put the rocks in, tie and tape him, and.. hope it's enough. That it gets us... enough time. I'm -- I'm sorry. I know this is.. going to feel like murder. If it's too much, you don't need to -- you've done enough, you know?"

"Whoa. I can't out maneuver him, and I can't fight him off. But I've read tons of Deadpool graphic novels. I know he's impossible to kill. And this... I mean I'm not sure I'll be much more than something new and pretty for him to look at, but I'm willing to help you find a way to hold him off until we figure out a way to fix him."

"If we can keep him in the pool long enough... hopefully Carol will get here... it'll... we'll figure something out. He's better than this... thank you for.. recognizing that." He curled over his arm then, just quietly waiting -- and then it happened.

Deadpool floated to the surface, took a few breaths, and looked around.

"Deadpool.." Matt stood up, then gestured him over. "Come here."

Still dazed, Wade obeyed. He grabbed the hand that was offered and let Matt pull him out of the water -- and then things went more smoothly than expected. In another minute, Wade was unconscious and stripped of all his weapons and tools. They got him bound, then rolled him into the deep end.

Matt sank to his knees and let his head hang low. "You okay?" He asked, voice rough and hollow.

Seth watched with a hand gently placed over his mouth. It wasn’t horror, really, so much as an intense… excitement at being able to watch all this life. When Wade was at the bottom of his pool, Seth looked again at Matt and nodded. Gathering his thoughts, he moved to go stand next to Daredevil, sitting at the edge of the pool, his feet (and pajama pants) resting just beyond the surface, and he placed a gentle hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Tell me how I can help you. You were getting better. And then this happened. But if all we can do is wait for the others… there has to be something I can do.”

Matt shook his head, then turned and rested his forehead against Seth's shoulder for a few minutes, trying to lose himself in his heartbeat.

Finally, he straightened up. "I should probably shower... and wash the blood off everywhere he reopened... if you that's okay?"

Seth stood at the suggestion, the bent to offer more than just his hands, but his arms and what little strength he actually had, into helping Matt up. “Come on. You can use the shower in my room. Then, if you need to, you can crash on the bed. I have some of Ryan’s clothes in the guest room that… Or I can wash the ones your wearing, if you think there’s that much time.”

Matt shook his head. He didn't know how much time they had, having never fought Wade like this before. "If he wouldn't mind, I'd love to borrow something for now..." He had to lean on Seth again as they went inside and to his room, but this time, Matt managed to be a little less ashamed of it and to relax more, which made the process much easier for both of them.

"Thank you. You.. really kept your head there.. thank you for everything."

Standing in his own doorway, as if hesitant to cross the threshold, Seth nodded in a way that would hint his own nervousness about the situation. He’d thought about nothing but for what the comics had prepared him. He’d given up on the whole ‘this can’t be real’ schtick a while back. And now he was just rolling with it. Finally, deciding there were too many levers in that damn shower for one man to be able to maneuver them on his own first try, particularly if he couldn’t see anything, Seth finally moved into his room, and then to the bathroom, and started the shower with hot water that was just shy of biting. “Take all the time you need,” he offered, though they both knew time was a luxury that even Seth couldn’t afford at the moment. “I’ll go get his clothes. And I’ll throw yours in the wash if you’ll leave them somewhere for me. There’s no sense in not doing that.”

Matt listened intently to what Seth did in the shower, then nodded. Before the other could slip out past him, though, he put his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"It'll be okay. We're not going to let him hurt you. Why don't you just... stay here, or -- near, sorry, I didn't mean to sound inappropriate. While I shower. And we'll do the laundry and clothes together after, so you're never -- vulnerable."

“You’re not being inappropriate,” Seth replied too quickly, talking over Matt as he finished his sentence. He cleared his throat and shifted. Ultimately, however, he nodded. He didn’t know what else to do until Matt moved for the shower. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to just sit on the edge of the bed and pick up a book. He would end pacing the floor between the desk in front of the window and the door. This room, unlike the room he’d grown up in, was large enough that maybe he could count this as like… a mock workout. Or at least something to distract himself while Matt showered.

Seth seemed to tense up more than before and Matt couldn't help but feel guilty. This had to be terrifying for him.

Matt showered as quickly as he could. Afterwards, he came out without any bandages on -- even the water resistant one had been a lost cause after the fight with Deadpool -- and a towel around his waist. If his body had looked at all battered before, it was far worse now. There were significantly more bruises now, much deeper and darker, all of them looking swollen and awful against the muscle.

With the shower off, everything seemed almost too quiet now, save for their hearts and the hum of electronics. It almost felt wrong to break the silence, but Matt had to.

"You okay?"

Seth stopped mid stride when Matt appeared, and his eyes shamelessly wandered over bruises and other injuries. “I have…” He cleared his throat again, wishing it would stop giving out on him as if he were a teenager all over again. “I have bandages. They may not be as… durable as the last ones. But Ryan was known for getting in fights… Anyway. He’s grown up a lot, obviously, over the last ten years, but I learned to be prepared with him living in the house. Bandages. Ice. Handcuffs. Whatever.” He shrugged and he could feel some sort of secondary pain just from looking at what Matt was walking around with.

Suddenly remembering himself, and not wanting to burn a whole through Matt by staring, he picked up the clothes he’d gathered of Ryan’s and carried them over to Matt. “I hope these work.”

"Thanks.. and just something to, to cover this would be.. probably all I really need." He gestured to the incision on his side. Although the surgeon had sutured it well, the sutures themselves were inclined to snag on everything, he was learning.

"I'll just uh..." he cleared his throat, took the clothes, and slipped back into the bathroom. He hoped that Seth wouldn't mind him using his deodorant, and as he got dressed, it occurred to him that as strange as it was to smell like someone else, it wasn't awful.

When he came out, he was moving very quietly and carefully, wary of upsetting Seth again. His host already seemed so tense, and Matt didn't want to show gratitude by making him miserable.

"What colors are these?" He asked softly, even though it didn't really matter. It shouldn't matter. Matt ran a hand a little self-consciously over his chest, smoothing the shirt.

While Matt changed, Seth had slipped into the guest bathroom to grab a first aid kit and came out with dressing for the wound. “Would you like for me to.” Seth moved to the bed, patting the comforter, not even thinking about how Matt couldn’t -see- him make the gesture to join him. But all the same, he figured he would hear it. “Ironically? The shirt has the flash symbol on it. It was the only hero I could really get Ryan into. And considering the clothes I have here of his, your options are that shirt,” which was the softest kind of jersey knit t-shirt, “a wife beater, or a button down dress shirt. But if you’ll come and sit, I’ll bandage you up.”

He’d managed to get his own mind to quiet enough, now that Matt was fully dressed, that he figured he could tend to the man’s wounds without it being a big deal. The catch, that Seth was still yet to remember, was precisely how well Matt could hear. In the comics, it was difficult to forget the man’s talents. But in real life, it was too easy to mistake him for a normal man and figure yourself to be safe of any exposure.

When he lifted the shirt, Seth grit his teeth and rolled his eyes at himself. The man was injured, maybe he could be a little more adult about helping him. And for a brief moment, the mental criticism worked. But while he placed the strip of gauze over the stitches, holding them still while he tore tape with his teeth, Seth had to concentrate to keep from letting his fingers lightly brush over the other man’s skin. When he was finished, he closed his eyes and couldn’t help but let his touch linger for a beat too long before pulling away and standing up. “Right. Okay. So… What now? He’s still… drowning. It seems. How do we get ahold of your friends?”

If not for the lingering touch at the end, Matt wouldn't have thought anything of this. Seth had every reason to be scared, and he'd assumed that was the reason for the accelerated heartbeat until now.

Matt hesitated a moment, licked his lips, then put his shirt back properly in place. "They'll find us... or call you. You left that... note, right? Unless he... even if he destroyed it, Carol will find us. She's got, kind of a sixth sense... I guess it's like the Force? You. You probably know more about it than I do."

The really stupid thing about human attraction was how it could just not be an issue at all until someone else was into it. Now that Matt suspected Seth found him appealing in some way, although God only knew why, he realized he felt the same. With him, the attraction was due entirely to the personality, though. Seth was good. Brave. Kind. Affectionate. Matt was probably being an idiot for even thinking about this at all, especially when he wasn't sure if he himself was even really attracted to men, and.... and he should stop thinking it.

"I guess we... just need to find a way to pass the time.." Matt's jaw dropped at what he just said, he felt himself blush, and he said, "I didn't mean -- if that sounded dirty, I wasn't trying to imply that -- I mean not that you aren't -- your hand is nice -- but I wasn't -- um. We. Just. Need to... kill the time."

Jesus, Murdock.

Matt facepalmed with his good hand.

Seth watched, confused, as Matt talked circles around himself. The comment about his hand had Seth lifting it up to look at it. “My… hand?” In all their time together, Seth hadn’t witnessed Matt this unsure about anything he said, and Seth couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something to make Matt uncomfortable.

Of course you did, idiot, remember what he can hear and how he senses other people?

Shit.

“No, yeah. I… I understand. Passing the time. There are plenty of ways to do that.” None of which, Seth could think of at this moment.

"Right. Yeah. Of course. Plenty of ways that aren't... um... that aren't... okay there's.. really no way of asking this without sounding even.. even more awkward at this point, but.. is it okay if I get in your bed..? I mean to rest. I'm aching and... it... would probably be a relief, but if it's -- wow, I'm sorry, everything I say just sounds like a bad romance scene doesn't it? I'll. Uh. Stop. Stop talking."

Romance scene?

Had Seth missed signs? Or had he... fuck, he didn't even know. "Yeah. No, yeah, please feel free to lie down. I can turn on some music if it'll help..." Help what, Seth? set the mood??

"I mean if it'll help you relax any."

Should he slip into something more comfortable while he's at it?

"Fuck." Fuck. He hadn't meant to whisper that.

"Where do you want me?"

Sweet Moses.

"I mean. Would you prefer if I left you alone to rest?"

"No! I mean. Stay. You should stay. If you want to. Uh. If you -- if it's not uncomfortable to be in bed with... with me in your bed. If that's -- are you okay? I'm not trying to -- I don't want to do anything you're not okay with."

Like what, use the wrong pillow? Matt had been able to converse with people once upon a time, he remembered.

He lay back carefully.

Seth hesitated, looking around, moving in choppy, robotic angles, constantly awkward, unsure what to do.

He was over thinking this, Seth decided, and finally went to crawl into his own bed. It was as large as the last one had been, but this one was actively slept in, it smelled of him -- his shampoo and soaps. This was no different, he told himself.

"This is fine," he said, crawling under the covers, tho why he did that he wasn't sure. He wasn't cold. And it wasn't like Matt had asked to be able to sleep. Just to rest. Because he was injured.

Seth slunk down and covered his head with a pillow. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just... tired. Sore. And look, I'm sorry for -- getting so weird just now. I... think I might be... I guess bisexual, and... that's... I'm really attracted to kindness. And I'm sorry for... if I made... things weird. You've been great, the last thing you need is for some.. weird vigilante to fail at hitting on you. I mean because it's inappropriate for me to do that at all... right?"

Seth's head popped up from under the pillow and he looked at Matt with a narrowed gaze.

"But I thought you were getting weird because I was making you uncomfortable -- with the way I touched you or... god, I know technically you couldn't see me staring. But that doesn't mean I wasn't a complete creep and did it anyway."

Seth took a deep breath and rolled to his side. "I think you and I will hit painfully awkward way before we ever hit inappropriate." What kind of response is that, Seth?

"I mean. You're not weird."

Not better.

"I mean I don't think it would be weird. Or inappropriate."

"Oh," Matt said, and fell quiet for several long minutes. Finally, blushing again, his voice sounding a little darker as well now, he said: "It was nice. When you didn't take your hand away right away. I wasn't... you didn't... that wasn't weird. Nice. Not bad."

"Oh," Seth mimicked. He smiled, though, and again buried his face in the pillow, though just for a couple breaths. Just long enough to control the tone in his voice.

"Do you... I mean, if the touches felt nice?" This was ridiculous. Matt had laid with his head against Seth's chest earlier while Seth ran fingers through his hair. "I mean, they lingered because I liked... touch...ing...you."

"You... yes," Matt answered. "Yes. If you want..." but something made him tense again and although it hurt, he sat up. After a moment, Matt relaxed again.

"Carol just landed by the pool."

Though he had been slowly stretching his arm across the expanse of his bed in search of Matt, Seth pulled his arm back and tucked it in against his chest.

"I suppose she needs help? Or you want to talk to her?"

"Or you two could just stay in bed," Carol said, walking in. "Jesus, Matt, what happened to you?"

"Wade." Matt closed his eyes, not comfortable with letting her see them. "He's in the pool."

"He's... is that what that is? I got the gem back from Adam and Oliver's on his way here with him. Warlock's going to open a portal, send us home. Get up. Get ready."

Matt hadn't expected the news to feel like this, to feel so sudden, so wrong. He sat up slowly. "Oh.. I... oh."

"I'll go get Wade." Carol walked out.

Seth had sat up when she'd entered, and he smiled a thin, forced smile when she'd delivered the news that everything was going back to normal.

He felt the sharp contrast from when she'd suggested they just stay in bed, to when she was telling Matt to get moving.

He nodded once, but for once could think of nothing to say. Tomorrow he'd go back to Comic Con, work the rest of the weekend, and pretend like... what? That these past two days had never happened?

"Right. Well, I don't really know how to say thank you enough, for being my friend these couple days. And that I'm... I'm glad I met you. I'm glad to have known you. I..." he looked away as his chest tightened. "Be safe."

"We didn't have enough time," Matt said quietly.

"No," replied Seth. But it wasn't as if they could conjure more. He couldn't just, go with them. He wasn't a hero. Not really. Even in his own comics he was a poor excuse for a hero. And Matt couldn't stay here.

"Can I... would it be weird, or too much, to ask for a hug? I mean, if you're not a hugger, it's fine. Honestly. I just feel like a half-hearted wave and a reminder that it's okay to let people show you compassion just... isn't enough."

Matt couldn't say anything. He got up and went around to Seth's side, and once Seth was standing as well, he wrapped both arms around him and pressed his face against Seth's shoulder.

What could he say? His throat felt too tight to speak now and his chest had decided to ache. Seth was too good, he had given Matt too much kindness and faith, and he didn't want to leave now. Not yet. So he held tight and tried to pretend this wasn't the most final sort of goodbye there could be.

Seth hated how familiar this felt. Summer leaving off for college. He and Ryan deciding that they were better off as “brothers” instead of lovers. But even them, he’d see again. He had seen again. But Matt? Seth would only read about him and his adventures. Hopefully he’d watch as Matt decided to trust Foggy. As he conquered the threats to Hell’s Kitchen. He would get to see him again. But he wouldn’t… Nothing like this would ever be an option. Nothing real. And he had known that going into it.

He couldn’t even offer for Matt to take Seth’s graphic novels with him. So they could at least share that kind of closeness.

Instead he tightened his grip, but tried not to be too tight, knowing how much Matt was hurting. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Matt nodded once, but stayed where he was. This was stupid. He shouldn't have gotten so attached to Seth so quickly. This wasn't the time or the place to form a friendship -- but then Adam and Oliver had arrived as well, and Matt knew it was time. He knew, but he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to ask what all he and Seth had missed. He didn't want to know any of it, he just didn't want to go.

When he finally stepped back, he opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come. After an awkward silence, Matt stepped close again and kissed Seth on the lips, gentle and sad at once.

Dark brows cinched together as he felt Matt's lips on his. A first kiss should never have to be a last kiss -- learning someone new only to have to watch them walk away for good seemed like a fate too cruel to be real.

But this was real, Seth had decided. All of it. Every crazy bit of it. And he wanted more. More adventure. More friendship. More of this.

One hand slid gently to Matt's side, while the other cupped his face, and he deepened the kiss just enough to tell Matt that he'd be missed.

And that was the only way Seth knew how to say goodbye.

For once, Matt wasn't embarrassed to cry. The tears had escaped while they kissed, and when he stepped back, they glistened on his cheeks and darkened his lashes.

He shook his head, wishing it wasn't like this, and then he turned and walked out.

The Daredevil comics changed after that. Matt seemed to be both softer and sadder; he slowly started to let people in, but never close enough. There was an unexplained scar on his side that drove fans crazy -- and several years later, when he died, Foggy went to clean his apartment out and found a mysterious letter unfinished on his computer.

Dear Seth --

I think about you often. You changed my life. You changed me. I know you've always been with me. You care. Even when I'm broken in some dark alley, I know you care. Your memory makes it easier to fight and to live.

"We didn't have enough time. I wish I could have heard your voice again. But I have to go do this one last thing and I don't expect to survive it. I'll be stronger though because of you.

Foggy's calling.

And that was it. Some fans were intrigued by the panel. Some hated it. None understood.

Seth had spent years following the Daredevil comics after whole event happened, but he’d never told anybody the details of his time with Matt and the rest of the super crew.

When he read the final panel, read the letter meant for him, he nearly cancelled his appointment to be on the Marvel discussion panel at Comic Con. He was just a guest speaker anyway. More of a host than actually a presenter. Nobody would ask him questions. Nobody would see him -- even if his comics had started to grow in popularity.

This was Marvel. This was the big time.

And so bailing on it seemed like something he couldn’t follow through with. He introduced all the artists, the writers, and of course Stan Lee. He listened as they discussed the decision to finally kill Matt Murdock. And suddenly, a young man, one who reminded Seth of himself at that age, approached the microphone with a note in his hand.

“We have time for one more question,” Seth announced, nodding to the boy.

“Um. This one is actually for you, Mr. Cohen. As a creator of your own comics, are you ever affected, or are you characters ever affected by the deaths of heroes from other universes?”

Seth smiled, though his brows pinched together. His eyes brimmed with tears and he had to look down at his podium for a moment. “Uh...” He hesitated. “I... felt the death of Matt Murdock. I think the loss of someone so vital, someone so good and important -- there’s not a way for it to not be felt in all universes. Maybe it’s fourth wall breaking -- Deadpool would be proud -- but as much as any one of the Marvel characters, the DC characters, or even my characters, I will mourn the death of the Daredevil. Matt was my long time friend. I felt like I knew him. And I have struggled to write anything new for my characters, because we are all grieving. But you can bet, in the next issue, there will be a nod to Matt Murdock’s life.”

#violentnobility #thread #one shot #blind date #i added a little something onto the end for you

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