bakerstreet | insomnia;

insomnia;

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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[Having extra-curricular activities like Matt does, it's not uncommon for him to be awake at all hours. Hell's Kitchen is like a full time job, and, try as he might, even on days when he wants to let that responsibility go a little, he can't. Like a guilt seeping in, it gnaws at his mind behind closed eyes. The tossing and turning only does so much. His mind quiets for a few minutes and he thinks - yes, this is it. Ready to welcome sleep with open arms.

Somewhere in the distance a siren goes off and he knows it's no use.

Putting on the suit is routine. Matt doesn't need to think about it anymore. Legs in, arms in, mask on. It's all muscle memory that carries him to his window and through it. There are no targets tonight. Matt has nothing to look in on, no one to watch. He breaks up a couple of petty crimes before coming to rest on a rooftop somewhere. He sits and overlooks the city, fingers tapping on the brick.]

[Frank's night is slow going, but then most of his nights are. He's not blood and bombast seven days a week, and if he was, he'd have been dead in a hurry. He's not even like Daredevil, beating the streets every night, listening and finding people to save. His strengths aren't actually in his ability to pick up and aim a gun (though, that part certainly doesn't hurt), but in his ability to gather information and strategize - to find a target and learn everything there is to know about it long before wiping it clean off the goddamn map with extreme prejudice.

That quiet recon part is what he's in the middle of when he makes his way past Daredevil's rooftop perch, tailing a pair of distributors for a gun running operation that opened in the wake of Daredevil landing the majority of the Dogs of Hell (temporarily) behind bars. He already knows the two of them by name and by crimes, and he had followed them home last week already but it wasn't a good time to engage yet.

Tonight isn't a good time either, but it doesn't hurt to keep an eye on all known variables to minimize avoidable collateral damage, which is what he intends to waste all his time doing until a chance glance up and across the street gets him a trained sniper's eyefull of a silhouette with a pair of little horns on top.

He slows to a stop on the sidewalk, fingers twitching restlessly at his side, before deciding that there's no way he's going to go unnoticed so he might as well give up the ghost now. He tilts his head, and doesn't bother to raise his voice above normal speaking volume despite the several stories distance between them:]

You a gargoyle now, Red?

[It's true. Matt's locked on to Frank's presence and was considering letting it go. Their meetings are a toss up. He's not sure, really, when they'll get along and when they won't, and it's hard to decide if tonight's worth the chance. But then Frank goes ahead and makes the decision for him.

Under the edge of the mask, Matt's lips curl up into a vague smile. He could sit here and shout back down to the street. It's not ideal for either of them. A talk face to face, man to devil, seems more appropriate. If nothing else it gives Matt something to do. Light feet carry him across the edge of the roof and down the fire escape, swinging from the bottom rung to land in alley that brings him kitty-corner to Frank.]

It's a lot more interesting than my day job. [Which is non-existent, currently. For the moment. A reshuffling of things as Nelson and Murdock becomes just Murdock and Matt's got a reputation to try and patch together.]

[Frank gives an indelicate snort. Not like he'd ever say so out loud, but Red can be pretty amusing when he's not being infuriating.]

Yeah, I'll bet. [Frank hasn't exactly bothered with a day job since receiving his discharge papers — and... everything that came after. He's more partial to shitkicking the dirty money out of the sort of people who deserve to have all their toys taken away before they die screaming, and no part of that looks good on a resume. Even if Frank sometimes feels that it should.] Not getting anything from up there? What's your radius, anyway?

[Frank might be feeling unusually chatty tonight (which is still fairly laconic by most people's standards), unusually restless. Unlike Matt, he sleeps exactly as much as he needs to in order to operate acceptably while on mission. Or, well... he means to. But there's some nights where the noise of the city just isn't enough. It's not the barracks, not surprise midnight bombing raids - and it's definitely not his old, lumpy bed and the warm weight of his wife who snores like a goddamn buzz saw. It's just nothing, just gaping emptiness, and he needs to go out, needs to bust heads, needs a war to fight before he goes fucking crazy.

But tonight isn't cooperating - tonight, he doesn't have the discipline to pass up the opportunity for something different. Even if "different" is just bothering the guy in devil-themed long johns, who undoubtedly deserves it for all the shit he's given Frank.]

[He steps closer, but keeps a moderate amount of distance between them. It's not that Matt doesn't trust Frank. Well. Not entirely. To some degree he may trust the other man more than he should. When they want to, they can co-exist well enough, and Matt chooses to believe that if Frank Castle wanted him dead, he already would be.

All the same, Matt's going to err on the side of caution.]

You never stop to enjoy the view? [See, it's funny.] Not even Hell's Kitchen can have a problem every night.

[Which makes Matt feel uneasy. And if Frank is stomping around the streets - well. That means something is inevitably going to be up, and Matt doesn't want to be that guy, but if he has to interfere then he will.]

Guess not. [Frank sounds dubious about that at best, but he's not about to tell Matt any of the problems he's gunning after at the moment, because there is literally nothing more frustrating than having the Devil drop by in his jammies to fuck up decent bloodbath with his moralizing and shit.

So, alright, maybe he's not eager to see Daredevil cross over the line anymore, he knows what it means, he does. But it's not like Frank's opinions have changed on half-measures or the uselessness of sending genuine, bona fide scum to lockup for a few weeks at a time like they'll actually change their tune, he just knows now that he should be the one to pull the trigger. Not everyone's cut out for that shit, maybe, and there's nothing left in him to be ruined.

Which means distractions. Red is the sort who likes people, needs them, needs to help. Frank could tell that halfway through their first conversation ("conversation," like he didn't chain the man to a rooftop for it to happen), so he shrugs, shoulders loose and nonchalant.] There's a diner down this block that makes decent coffee at 2AM. [By which he means, shit that'll wake you up. Coffee as black as tar and about half as thick, the sort of stuff you can't quite taste because every mouthful makes you feel a bit like you're dying. Frank has some interesting preferences.] Unless you're too busy lurking.

[Well. Matt thought it was funny. Then again, Frank has never struck him as the good-humoured kind, so Matt's gonna take it with a grain of salt.

A silence descends between them. He supposes that's it. A chance meeting in the night, which will result in Matt being hyper aware of Frank's presence through out Hell's Kitchen. Frank's tracking someone, Matt's tracking Frank. Both of them will know it. It probably won't end well.

But then - that's cause for pause. Matt's head tilts, almost as if he thinks he's heard wrong. People don't usually invite him anywhere these days, not as Matt and certainly not as Daredevil. His brow furrows. Is the other shoe going to drop? Or is this one of those things where there's literally nothing better to do for either of them, so they may as well do this.]

I know which one you mean. I'd need to ditch the horns.

[Frank gives him a once-over. Maybe he's just used to the getup by now. Hell, with Daredevil's reputation, he could probably get his coffee free if he waltzed into the diner decked out like that.] Not sure about need. It's New York, Red, no one's going to give a shit.

[This is coming from a guy whose most sophisticated disguise involved a baseball cap pulled down low over his face, even at his most wanted. He'd never had what could conceivably be called a secret identity, it just took an embarrassingly long time for people to piece together the facts on their own.]

But I can wait. [Since the secret seems to mean so much to him.]

I'm no Captain America.

[Which is to say, there are still a lot of people who don't appreciate the devil, and Matt's sure the people hanging around an all-night diner in Hell's Kitchen are the sort who don't much care for him. And it's easier, maybe, at times to just be Matt Murdock. The suit holds the thrill of mystery. Matt wants to hold on to that.

He calculates the time it will take. Home is a hop, skip, and a jump away via rooftop. Getting dressed - easy enough. The diner also not far if he ditches the conventional use of sidewalks. No one's going to notice a blind guy scaling rooftops at this hour, anyway.]

I can ... Meet you there.

Suit yourself.

[Frank doesn't entirely know why he waits when Matt presents him with a decent opportunity for a clean break. He could use the time to slip off and continue on his mission once the Devil's attention is no longer in immediate danger of wandering too close to Frank's current targets, but.

Maybe he... does miss human contact. Just. A little, the smallest bit. He knows shouldn't be indulging himself, he has a one-man war to wage, but it's not like Red doesn't get why he does what he does. Even if he doesn't entirely approve.

When the diner door dings open, Frank looks up from where he's been nursing a mug of coffee, a carafe and a spare cup perched on the edge of the table. He raises both eyebrows by way of greeting, giving his new choice of clothes an assessing look.]

Took you long enough.

[There's a certain amount of surprise that registers on Matt's face when he steps into the diner. Like a part of him hadn't actually expected Frank to be there. And he's surprised, too, to find that he's he glad he wasn't stood up by The Punisher.]

It's not nice to hassle the blind.

[As if Matt isn't more capable than any person with sight. But he's good at being a normal blind man, too. Frank's voice tells him where to go, and the cane seemingly assists with the short walk. Matt feels out the edge of the seat across from Frank, sits, folds up the cane beside him. Then he starts to question what either of them are doing here.]

I don't think I've ever been here.

[Frank lets out an incredulous snort into the rim of his coffee cup, probably meaning for it to sound scathing—it doesn't though, not really. He puts the mug down.] I'll make sure to say a few hail marys later.

[Frank watches the whole act without comment, more curious than anything. It's a good one, too: if he hadn't spent all the time with Red, he wouldn't suspect Matt to be capable of the kind of crazy horseshit Frank had seen him do.]

It didn't open until after the Incident. [Lately, Frank has made a point to avoid all the places that he used to take his family. He'd slipped in here one night to avoid being spotted when he was still tailing the cartel, and he'd been coming back occasionally ever since.] Day shift cook is chatty as hell, but it's not bad in the middle of the night. [Evidenced by the fact that the woman working the counter hasn't bothered to so much as glance at them since Matt walked in. Frank appreciates that sort of thing.]

Say a couple for me while you're at it.

[Matt listens as Frank talks. He has to imagine what he looks like, pick up facial expressions based on the inflection in the voice. Which is easy enough for Matt these days, but it's unusually difficult with Frank. There's not much variation to the way he sounds when he's just talking. And Matt's at the big disadvantage of not having any inkling what Frank looks like, apart from that he's a pretty solid guy, and that came from hauling him around that one time.

Since he has no idea what to say (he never does, when it comes to anything involving Frank's family), he just hums a bit. An acknowledgment that he isn't just pretending to pay attention. Matt goes to fold his hands on top of the table when he knocks over the extra mug, catching it before it shatters. For that, Frank just gets a pointed raise of eyebrows. No, it's no problem, he'll just grope along the table for the carafe that he's now certain is there somewhere.]

Well it's ... Good. That you're getting out.

[Matt Murdock, prize conversationalist. He lines up the pot of coffee and the mug before pouring himself some.]

Been awhile since I went to mass, but I'm pretty sure it don't work like that. [Frank remains absolutely, 100% unapologetic during Matt's whole show of struggling with the cup and coffee. He takes a pointedly loud sip of his own drink once he's done, nose wrinkling as he lets it burn down the back of his throat.

The good stuff brings the pain, see.]

Is it. [He doesn't actually roll his eyes, but he sounds like he's doing it on the inside. Rolling the eyes of his soul.] Don't tell me you really are considering taking up psychiatry, doc.

[Bad enough Matt's a goddamn lawyer, he really doesn't need the additional strike against his character, as far as Frank's concerned.]

[It's good to know that at least Frank is consistently an asshole. Matt doesn't like surprises. And sure, Frank can be a good guy. But he's still an asshole.

When Matt takes a sip of his own coffee, he nearly chokes on it. Whatever it is, it's not coffee. Maybe it used to be coffee, but it isn't anymore. Logic says that condiments will be at the edge of the table. Matt grabs a paper pack and opens it, giving it a taste test. Salt. He's more successful with the next one, plunking sugar and a little creamer into whatever it is he's just put in his stomach.]

I guess if there was ever a time to make a career change, this would be it.

[Frank ducks his head, trying not to grin. He should have known Matt would ruin a perfectly good cup of horrible sludge with sugar and creamer like a heathen.]

... Right. Yeah. [There had been that one career-breaking legal case he'd stomped all over in the most public way possible last time he was anywhere near Red's secret identity. Whoops?

He should probably apologize...

But when you really stop to think about it, it's Matt's fault for trying to be a good person in the first place. So.] Why even bother? With the secret at all. [Come reside in a horrible little hovel, eat food straight out of the can and eke by solely on the life-sustaining power of anger and spite like a normal nutjob, Matt.]

[Matt can hear the shift, Frank's head or shoulders moving. He can't even guess why, so he brushes it off, taste testing the unknown substance and deciding that, for this hour, it's doable. He's survived worse.

Then there's that, and, for a second, Matt actually thinks there's going to be an apology. That would count as a surprise. He's glad when it doesn't happen, because, in hindsight, it really is his fault, isn't it? It's always worse when you have no one but yourself to blame.]

I ... Guess at one point I thought it was better for people around me. Keep them safe. That was the plan. [Another drink, grimacing a bit against the acidity.] The truth is, I like it. I can't do that as me, as Matt. It's liberating. I like being ... That. [He won't say The Devil. They may be virtually alone but one never knows when someone might choose to listen.]

Or maybe you were right. I'm a coward.

[As me, he says. As Matt. Frank doesn't think of himself as the Punisher, not by name, but he certainly thinks of that part of himself as being what he is intrinsically. He's not Frank Castle, sometimes a guy who shoots the shit out of crime. He's a guy who shoots the shit out of crime, whose name used to be Frank Castle.

But clearly, Matt's the other way around.

He wonders what that's like, but he also very much doesn't want to know. He won't go down that rabbit hole, because nothing good could possibly be waiting for him at the bottom of it.]

Shit. [He looks away, out the window at the mostly quiet street.] Already told you I was wrong about that.

I'm not so sure you were. [Sometimes it takes the brutally honest words of a deranged stranger to make you see the light. In his way, Matt wishes he'd come across Frank Castle sooner. He could have used the literal kick in the ass a long time ago.]

Before I had the horns I used to go out in this stupid black outfit. Maybe compared to what it is now, it wasn't that bad, but when I took a hit I really felt it. I tied this bandana around my face.

[Matt waves his hand over his eyes, as if to illustrate the image. He can't help but smile at it, laughing a little.] I don't think I knew what I was doing, just that I knew I had to.

[Frank's eyebrows skim upwards. He must have still been overseas then, because he remembers coming back to a Devil of Hell's Kitchen already decked out in the red jammies.]

If you want me to think anything could possibly be worse than the little horns, I'm going to have to see it for myself.

[Don't knock the all black plainclothes aesthetic, buddy.]

Edited (whoops) 2016-04-01 08:44 (UTC)

I think it was probably thrift-store-ninja chic. The horns are nice. Just in case someone ever decides to shoot me in the head, I know I'll be relatively okay.

[He's over it, sure. But it's good to remind Frank that he himself proved the usefulness of the gimmick.]

Anyway, I don't carry black bandanas around so you have to take my word on it.

Uh huh. [Wow what a heartfelt apology! Why do you still talk to this guy, Matt?] Where do you get that shit, anyway? That helmet sure as Hell ain't civilian grade, it's not even military grade.

[Not that he's looking to go around in a skintight unitard himself, he's just. Curious. Been-there, done-that, with the whole shot-in-the-unprotected-head deal himself, and he's not much of a fan.]

[This is just a fact: currently Frank Castle may or may not be one of Matt's only friends. Or something resembling a friend. Matt's lips turn up in a not-entirely-amused way before he has another sip of sludge.]

I know a guy. Which is really all I can say.

[Frank scoffs, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling like God will be up there, giving him the strength to Deal with Matt Murdock.]

Fine, keep your secrets. [Rude]

[Good luck. Better men have asked for that strength and failed.

Matt tops off his cup and adds more cream and sugar, absently stirring. If the thought of what Frank could do when equipped like Matt didn't terrify him, then maybe Matt would spill the beans.]

Sorry, Frank. Maybe next time.

insomnia;

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