[At least someone can laugh with him. Foggy has stopped. He guffaws and has staunchly become an advocate even when Matt can't stomach the way people tiptoe and pander out of their discomfort. Blindness is what it is. Like life, like death. He can't fight it.
Strolling along with John on the city street he can pretend that it's not as big of a deal as it is.]
A few times? That's--hah. Yeah he was an underdog. I was his biggest fan and medic.
[Although--?]
I don't remember telling you about that.
[Given John's strong feelings about children and alcohol, Matt feels like he would have remembered the reaction.]
[ Maybe that's what makes them different enough to have delved into this, then. This strange territory they already occupied before all the demons and beasts and the like. He hopes it's enough they can continue. ]
All right then, you were playing nurse then how many was it? [ Teasing of course. ] Right you were to be his best fan. I was always more fond of Mexican wrestling.
[ His heart does a funny thing in his chest. He knows he can't hide that. Licking his lips, he casts a glance down as they continue walking. ]
[They do have very similar coping mechanisms. Matt chooses to take up causes that aren't his own, fight with all that he is and shove the pain down as many times as it takes. He sees this in John even more than ever now that he finally has more details.]
That's not a sport, last I knew.
[He would never say that in the barrio streets. Just here. Just with John. Matt's head tilts hearing the skipped beat.]
I don't think so. I would have remembered. But...it was just the two of us. Not very many candidates.
[And it isn't like John can read his mind. That fluttering beat out of sync though.]
It's entertainment at least, don't knock it. Come on.
[ A gentle elbow aimed at his ribs as they walk. He chuckles. It's almost easy to try and put that other slip up out of his head but Matt doesn't seem ready to let it go. The man's got a good head for remembering things. Wouldn't be a lawyer if he wasn't. Memory. Research. it's important. ]
I'll knock it as a sport. You have to have seen real boxing.
[He's got eyes. And that sounds like an enjoyable English past time with the football, right? John's not the typical Englishman though. Not at all.
There's that other little stumbled beat. It's like listening to a drummer lose their grip on the sticks. The beat goes on, the sound though.]
...maybe you dunno. And maybe because like it or not I'm soft on you, [which is the fucking truth and he's trying to keep his temper out of it] but I never talk about my father with just anyone. Especially me patching him up.
[As to why he's being so defensive, why is this so irregular, it's like something is on the tip of his tongue.]
Never a real match. Had plenty of brawls while watching the sport or at the pub in general.
[ Mostly at the pub. He thinks. John's not too sure of the where part of the equation. Most things he fights don't have proper rules and all. Demons, surprisingly, have general rules of engagement most stick to. ]
Oh, this again. It's a dangerous thing, that. [ Being soft on someone like him. Doesn't mean he doesn't want it. Doesn't mean he doesn't crave it. He knows he should get away from him and yet here he still bloody is. ] All right, okay.
[ he draws in a shaky breath and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. ]
Okay, I've---I didn't hear it from you. He told me. [ He clears his throat, leg bouncing in agitation. ] Jack told me.
[Sometime. Some place. A real match for John to see. Not some bunch of goons in masks. The irony being that is their world too. The fights are overblown. There are fewer rules. Not near so many demons on Matt's side of things. He's just one man trying to defend one neighborhood.]
John. Don't--[It's too late now though for that. Matt lightly shakes his head. His lips purse and he clutches and somehow wants to shove John away. He doesn't just wrinkling up the sleeve of his coat something fierce.]
[ He chuckles at the idea of the two of them going to watch a match. Honestly, he'd be just as keen on hearing Matt talk about it the whole night just from what he remembers. Of course that's just interest, not how much he enjoys hearing the other man's voice and enthusiasm over something he really enjoys. Obviously. ]
I'm---[ Cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? He clears his throat and his jaw clenches. ]---What do you want me to say here?
I'm not, Matt. I wouldn't muck about with something like this.
[On the outside it would look like two salty types out to watch men beat one another to a pulp. For Matty Murdock, son of Battlin' Jack, it would be a date, a meaningful way to connect the present to the past. He hasn't been to a match as a ringside spectator since Jack Murdock bled out in an alleyway. It's not the same. It never will be. The connection to the sport resonates with him, through the years in his head and heart as sure as he feels the world around him.
Tension is high in John, his teeth meeting and clutching as though trying to buckle down and hold onto what he wants to refuse. At least it isn't a lie.
Matt's hands clutch on him tighter. He swallows.]
Why--why isn't he at peace?
[Guilt as fresh as that horrible night is on him in a second. When you're dead and gone, after the prayers are said and the box you rest in forever is in the ground you're not supposed to do much more than see the afterlife. Wasn't Jack faithful? Was he a sinner? Or did Matt's actions somehow mess it up so that the old man would never know peace and comfort?]
[ From the outside it could be a lot of things. Lucky there aren't a lot of spectators on the street right now. They can just be a couple of blokes trying to sort something out.
John doesn't try to tug away from the tightening grip, knowing he's searching for some kind of stability. If he can at least be that for him, then he will. This is always the hardest bloody part of it. ]
It doesn't always work out simply. Sometimes---sometimes spirits just can't let go. Other times the living have trouble letting go. I think---[ Because he hasn't asked plainly. He was too close for it all. What kind of conversation is he supposed to have with his sometimes boyfriend's ghost dad? ]---I think he wasn't ready to let go of you.
Wanted to keep close and look out for you as best he could, considering.
[Blokes sorting something out is part of why Matt isn't making a bigger scene. The little tells are there. John knows them, or rather he is incapable of hiding them. His nose scrunches and the crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepen as his eyes screw up reflexively. Breathing out and in through his nose at least bolsters his ability to not make a noise of anguish aside what is becoming a sniff.]
And--and he's seen--[Everything. Then? All of his choices, the good and the bad. Beating Roscoe Sweeney bloody in his own home. Avenging the little girl crying in the night. Hell's Kitchen singing his praise and shouting scorn at the Devil.
Matt shakes his head and his fingers loosen from John's coat.]
It should't have happened, he shouldn't have died. I shouldn't--I shouldn't have even been in his life he could have been something great, could have---[twenty plus years of regret and pain being pushed back now laid bare.]
[ He reaches out a gentle hand to Matt's shoulder, squeezing a moment. A bit of what he hopes is reassurance. ]
He's been with you through it all. [ The easiest way he can put it. He never asked for details really cause it's not his place. Matt would tell him on his own but sometimes things slip through. It's not like the dead have anybody else to chat with. ]
No, no no no. Don't do that. He never regretted having you in his life. You were the best part of it. You hear me?
[His shoulder rises and falls beneath John's hand. Matt is quiet a moment, his head shaking. Saline, salt and shame have welled up to be too much in his eyes and roll down from the fame of his glasses. He's never wanted to be alone and held so much at the same time.]
How--[dammit, his voice is a croak] how do you know? Did he say? I talked him up for the fight, John. I told him---I told him about principle. He'd be alive right now.
[Any other time he would sure as hell be the one to talk reason and reach out. There's an additional wash of shame that he has put this on John who has suffered so very much too.]
It's not always as easy as saying. Sometimes its in looks, gestures, the feelings attached to it. He's told me a lot within reason. Some I suppose he figures isn't his to give away but mine to find out.
[ He considers himself lucky, after everything, that even the ghost of Jack Murdock wants him hanging about. He knows Matt's life is dangerous, but folding John Constantine into the mix? That's a whole other level of it. ]
All good things, Matt. All right things. Talking him up for it or not, at the end of the day? It was his choice to do what he did. His, you hear me?
[ A sigh and then. ] My arm, come on, take it. You and me, we're going for a walk somewhere. Can't have you giving yourself away. Come on.
[ Once he takes his arm, John starts off. Eventually, the other man might recognize they are going towards the old gym his father trained at. ]
[The whole wave of emotion is crashing over on Matt's head. The past and those years of isolation and loneliness, he was trying to find his way in the world at St. Agnes. Anger was there, and it burned brighter and kept him warm. The chill of guilt and more had been repressed.
Matt was having his way with John's feelings and this--this is the combination move that's got him on the ropes.]
Good things. [Repeating it doesn't mean he believes it, he sniffs and scrunches his face. A grown man blubbering like this, he can't bring himself to care too deeply.]
John--[Matt's voice is a croak. He wants to say that truly his life was a burden to Jack. He could have moved on one way or the other. There was no way for him to really thrive if he had a disabled son, the sort of fatalistic, self depreciating things absorbed by the talk that heightened senses gave him. Youth and sensitivity didn't allow him to share what he heard.
He hears the familiar swinging sign up the street.]
[ Old Johnny boy knows all about the things that one says and yet refuses to believe. He was there to hear Zed telling him that his mum's death wasn't his fault. Something he's not liable to believe unless he gets it from her straightaway. Even then, he might not.
He's had more telling him things in an awful way than anything else. ]
S'what I said, mate. [ Firm and insistent. ] Pretty sure you know where we're at already.
[Inside every grown man and woman are the little children confused and hurt by what has happened. Matt's walls are in shambles. John already had his ways in, he slipped on in with ease no matter how he tried to tell himself that the magician would just come and go as he pleased. He still had thought that there were ways to guard himself. Blows like this, he's on the ropes emotionally and not fighting the way they slip down the alley.]
Maybe this isn't a good idea.
[His voice sounds choked, strained and barely able to cope with what's coming up over his head.]
I just--[Can't stand to be wrong in these long held beliefs that he's been carrying? That he could have been in a state of calm and comfort? The words don't come out. And here they are, the back door of Fogwell's. He already knows that John just has a way of getting in one way or the other so it does no good to insist that it's locked up and they best turn tail.]
My mother left us. Both of us. A grown man and a baby---
[The inference is obvious, backing up what he had said earlier. And in this moment he doesn't' think about how Jack Murdock and Matt were a distorted parallel to a young boy from Liverpool.]
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no subject
Strolling along with John on the city street he can pretend that it's not as big of a deal as it is.]
A few times? That's--hah. Yeah he was an underdog. I was his biggest fan and medic.
[Although--?]
I don't remember telling you about that.
[Given John's strong feelings about children and alcohol, Matt feels like he would have remembered the reaction.]
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All right then, you were playing nurse then how many was it? [ Teasing of course. ] Right you were to be his best fan. I was always more fond of Mexican wrestling.
[ His heart does a funny thing in his chest. He knows he can't hide that. Licking his lips, he casts a glance down as they continue walking. ]
Didn't you?
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That's not a sport, last I knew.
[He would never say that in the barrio streets. Just here. Just with John. Matt's head tilts hearing the skipped beat.]
I don't think so. I would have remembered. But...it was just the two of us. Not very many candidates.
[And it isn't like John can read his mind. That fluttering beat out of sync though.]
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[ A gentle elbow aimed at his ribs as they walk. He chuckles. It's almost easy to try and put that other slip up out of his head but Matt doesn't seem ready to let it go. The man's got a good head for remembering things. Wouldn't be a lawyer if he wasn't. Memory. Research. it's important. ]
Must've heard you mention it someplace.
[ A lie. ]
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[He's got eyes. And that sounds like an enjoyable English past time with the football, right? John's not the typical Englishman though. Not at all.
There's that other little stumbled beat. It's like listening to a drummer lose their grip on the sticks. The beat goes on, the sound though.]
...maybe you dunno. And maybe because like it or not I'm soft on you, [which is the fucking truth and he's trying to keep his temper out of it] but I never talk about my father with just anyone. Especially me patching him up.
[As to why he's being so defensive, why is this so irregular, it's like something is on the tip of his tongue.]
What's going on, John?
no subject
[ Mostly at the pub. He thinks. John's not too sure of the where part of the equation. Most things he fights don't have proper rules and all. Demons, surprisingly, have general rules of engagement most stick to. ]
Oh, this again. It's a dangerous thing, that. [ Being soft on someone like him. Doesn't mean he doesn't want it. Doesn't mean he doesn't crave it. He knows he should get away from him and yet here he still bloody is. ] All right, okay.
[ he draws in a shaky breath and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. ]
Okay, I've---I didn't hear it from you. He told me. [ He clears his throat, leg bouncing in agitation. ] Jack told me.
[ And that is the truth. ]
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[Sometime. Some place. A real match for John to see. Not some bunch of goons in masks. The irony being that is their world too. The fights are overblown. There are fewer rules. Not near so many demons on Matt's side of things. He's just one man trying to defend one neighborhood.]
John. Don't--[It's too late now though for that. Matt lightly shakes his head. His lips purse and he clutches and somehow wants to shove John away. He doesn't just wrinkling up the sleeve of his coat something fierce.]
Don't bullshit me, John. I couldn't take it.
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[ He chuckles at the idea of the two of them going to watch a match. Honestly, he'd be just as keen on hearing Matt talk about it the whole night just from what he remembers. Of course that's just interest, not how much he enjoys hearing the other man's voice and enthusiasm over something he really enjoys. Obviously. ]
I'm---[ Cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? He clears his throat and his jaw clenches. ]---What do you want me to say here?
I'm not, Matt. I wouldn't muck about with something like this.
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Tension is high in John, his teeth meeting and clutching as though trying to buckle down and hold onto what he wants to refuse. At least it isn't a lie.
Matt's hands clutch on him tighter. He swallows.]
Why--why isn't he at peace?
[Guilt as fresh as that horrible night is on him in a second. When you're dead and gone, after the prayers are said and the box you rest in forever is in the ground you're not supposed to do much more than see the afterlife. Wasn't Jack faithful? Was he a sinner? Or did Matt's actions somehow mess it up so that the old man would never know peace and comfort?]
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John doesn't try to tug away from the tightening grip, knowing he's searching for some kind of stability. If he can at least be that for him, then he will. This is always the hardest bloody part of it. ]
It doesn't always work out simply. Sometimes---sometimes spirits just can't let go. Other times the living have trouble letting go. I think---[ Because he hasn't asked plainly. He was too close for it all. What kind of conversation is he supposed to have with his sometimes boyfriend's ghost dad? ]---I think he wasn't ready to let go of you.
Wanted to keep close and look out for you as best he could, considering.
no subject
And--and he's seen--[Everything. Then? All of his choices, the good and the bad. Beating Roscoe Sweeney bloody in his own home. Avenging the little girl crying in the night. Hell's Kitchen singing his praise and shouting scorn at the Devil.
Matt shakes his head and his fingers loosen from John's coat.]
It should't have happened, he shouldn't have died. I shouldn't--I shouldn't have even been in his life he could have been something great, could have---[twenty plus years of regret and pain being pushed back now laid bare.]
no subject
He's been with you through it all. [ The easiest way he can put it. He never asked for details really cause it's not his place. Matt would tell him on his own but sometimes things slip through. It's not like the dead have anybody else to chat with. ]
No, no no no. Don't do that. He never regretted having you in his life. You were the best part of it. You hear me?
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How--[dammit, his voice is a croak] how do you know? Did he say? I talked him up for the fight, John. I told him---I told him about principle. He'd be alive right now.
[Any other time he would sure as hell be the one to talk reason and reach out. There's an additional wash of shame that he has put this on John who has suffered so very much too.]
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[ He considers himself lucky, after everything, that even the ghost of Jack Murdock wants him hanging about. He knows Matt's life is dangerous, but folding John Constantine into the mix? That's a whole other level of it. ]
All good things, Matt. All right things. Talking him up for it or not, at the end of the day? It was his choice to do what he did. His, you hear me?
[ A sigh and then. ] My arm, come on, take it. You and me, we're going for a walk somewhere. Can't have you giving yourself away. Come on.
[ Once he takes his arm, John starts off. Eventually, the other man might recognize they are going towards the old gym his father trained at. ]
no subject
Matt was having his way with John's feelings and this--this is the combination move that's got him on the ropes.]
Good things. [Repeating it doesn't mean he believes it, he sniffs and scrunches his face. A grown man blubbering like this, he can't bring himself to care too deeply.]
John--[Matt's voice is a croak. He wants to say that truly his life was a burden to Jack. He could have moved on one way or the other. There was no way for him to really thrive if he had a disabled son, the sort of fatalistic, self depreciating things absorbed by the talk that heightened senses gave him. Youth and sensitivity didn't allow him to share what he heard.
He hears the familiar swinging sign up the street.]
no subject
He's had more telling him things in an awful way than anything else. ]
S'what I said, mate. [ Firm and insistent. ] Pretty sure you know where we're at already.
Have to go around to the side door to get in.
no subject
Maybe this isn't a good idea.
[His voice sounds choked, strained and barely able to cope with what's coming up over his head.]
I just--[Can't stand to be wrong in these long held beliefs that he's been carrying? That he could have been in a state of calm and comfort? The words don't come out. And here they are, the back door of Fogwell's. He already knows that John just has a way of getting in one way or the other so it does no good to insist that it's locked up and they best turn tail.]
My mother left us. Both of us. A grown man and a baby---
[The inference is obvious, backing up what he had said earlier. And in this moment he doesn't' think about how Jack Murdock and Matt were a distorted parallel to a young boy from Liverpool.]