some rise by sin.

detransition, baby.

“mr. barnes is a client, captain rogers. as personal as i know this is, unless he waives privilege, i can’t share anything he said in confidence. not with you, not with anyone.”

matt offers what he hopes is a sympathetic look, and one significantly less tense than he feels. steve rogers has a reputation as an honorable man – of course he does, he has a reputation as the honorable man – but running the risk of crossing captain fucking america is. well. pressure, to say the least.

@onlygod // cont’d. 

‘ do you, now? ’ 

the devil of hell’s kitchen lives up to the reputation the bulletin has ascribed to him. if bruce didn’t know better, he’d think his own reputation had stayed in gotham, that he’d come to hell’s kitchen an entirely new man. the way his brow raises is impossible to notice under the cowl, the whites of the cowl’s eyes blinking once. 

remembers his rules, for the league - stupid ones, but ones that have been respected. there are villains in his city that are off limits. most of gotham is off-limits. new yorkers seem as territorial as gothamites. almost. of all the cities in the country, bruce hates new york the most of them all, he’s sure. that’s likely the gotham city in him too, and by all means, the two cities aren’t terribly different. 

it hadn’t exactly been his choice to come out here tonight, either, which means he’s going to give. an inch, at most, but it’s something.

he withdraws a syringe from his utility belt, takes a knee beside their unconscious suspect. his shoulder throbs with each movement, his rotators cuff almost gone if not already torn. with the empty syringe, he takes a sample of blood and with another, injects a sedative nearby in order to feel comfortable enough to restrain their suspect properly. 

that’s when he takes a step back to stand, finally acknowledges him with a gaze that sizes him up properly. although he’s smaller than him, bruce knows better than to underestimate him, especially after that display. he’s good at this, not to mention he’s younger, faster. a challenge, that’s all. 

‘ i appreciate the help, ’ he says in a way that characteristically doesn’t sound appreciative whatsoever, ‘ but after tonight, this won’t concern you. ’

“that’s not your call,” matt snaps back, hackles already raised at the dismissal. batman has the kind of gruff arrogance that’d pique his interest in the right kind of bar but sets his teeth on edge in the mask, as much as he doesn’t want this to turn hostile unnecessarily. “not in hell’s kitchen. i don’t know or care how things work in gotham; this is my city. you start shit here, you play by my rules.”

he turns, as if actually looking, to the 350-odd pounds of pure muscle batman’s just injected with what matt can only assume, by the smell and the way the unconscious mook’s breathing depresses even further after a few moments, was a strong enough tranquilizer to take out a raging bull. he reeks of chemicals already, something strange and almost vegetal that clings to the back of matt’s throat. he’s never smelled it before, not on any junkies, not even on the sick bastards who mess around with MGH, and the strength – and physique – of batman’s target clearly wasn’t natural.