Blindsided

His fist collided with the target. Sweat was pouring down his face, dripping onto the fabric of his shirt. His muscles moved on memory, finding its target with ease. It helped, he needed this.

This, just mindlessly pounding on the punching bag, calmed him. Helped him think. Helped him focus. And he needed to think.

Ever since his best friend found out about his alter-ego, Matt had been working on being honest. It had been going better but now he was back at the start. He was lying to the people around him, to the people who felt so extremely guilty for something that was a lie, and Matt hated it.

He knew he couldn’t tell them the truth, that would result in them finding out who he was. It would put his friends in danger.

But the guilt of causing them to feel bad was eating at him.

He knew exactly what Foggy would say if he told him. He knew he needed to come clean about his lies, but he didn’t know how.

And the punching bag was suffering for it.

Matt let out a loud grunt, throwing a wide swing at the bag before his knees buckled and he slid to the floor. He panted, hands reaching up to grab the bag. He let his head lean against it, breathing hard.
He needed this. For a while, he managed to turn off his senses and just let himself go.

Now, his senses came back.

The rhythm of a heartbeat in the room with him reached his ears. He didn’t recognise the beat but it was strong, steady, enhanced. That had to be Sargeant James Barnes, Matt thought. The only heart that came close to beating that loud was Steve’s.

“You good?” he spoke up and his voice confirmed Matt’s thought. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Bucky.”

The man’s heavy footsteps came closer but they weren’t heading towards him. Instead, they walked to the boxing ring on the left of the room.

Matt cleared his throat, leaning back on his knees. “Daredevil,” he said. “And yeah, I’m good.”

“You got energy left for a match?” Bucky asked. His metal arm whirred mechanically and Matt almost winced at the sound.

He got up. “Why not,” he answered, picking up the cane Bruce had given him and using it to find his way to Bucky.

The next half hour was spent just aimlessly sparring with Bucky.

The super soldier didn’t hold back, didn’t treat him any different. Sure he wasn’t giving it his all but somehow Matt knew it wasn’t because he was blind. This wasn’t a real fight and Bucky didn’t want to actually hurt him.

Matt was glad for that. He got to use his senses in a fight, got to familiarise himself with the way the other man fought. It was nice.

Bucky moved his metallic arm and Matt ducked, sending a punch to Bucky’s side.

The man retaliated with a punch to Matt’s face and he tasted blood.

He spat on the floor but kept throwing punches, managing to get Bucky on the floor.

Bucky sent him back against the fence with one kick. His feet were coming his way, each step told Matt exactly where he was and what he was going to do.

Matt sidestepped the punch coming his way, moving automatically and twisting his arm behind his back.

Bucky groaned, slipping out of the grip easily and Matt found himself falling on the ground.

He panted, letting his head fall back on the floor.

Bucky was breathing hard, standing over him. “You fight good,” he said between breaths.

“You too,” Matt replied, holding his hand out.

Bucky took it and helped him to his feet. “Steve’s told me about you. It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

Matt wiped his mouth. “You too.” he moved to the side of the ring and jumped down.

“I actually came here to ask if you’d want to join us for our weekly team night,” Bucky said. He moved after Matt and picked something up. “I’m holding out a towel,” he said.

Matt turned and took it. “Why?” he frowned. The team had been avoiding him, he thought. He’d only bumped into Bruce and that was only because the doctor wanted to check his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to the others since he talked to Steve outside.

The air shifted around Bucky. “You’re part of the team, now,” he said. “You should come, Steve’s cooking.”

Matt hummed, wiping his face with the towel. The fabric was soft and smelled like laundry detergent and vanilla.

“Think about it,” Bucky said. “Just ask Friday to lead the way if you change your mind.”

“Okay,” Matt replied, grabbing his cane. He left the training room, leaving the sound of Bucky’s fists connecting with leather behind.

Friday helped him find his way back to the room given to him by Tony and Matt headed straight for the shower.

The water was warm against his skin. He felt each individual drop and he focussed on those. It helped drone out the sounds and smells around him.

His senses had been in overdrive ever since the acid was poured into his eyes and it took a lot of his energy to get used to it. Things were just a tad more noticeable now.

He’d had a few instances when he got close to a sensory overload but luckily Tony had very good noise-cancelling headphones laying around. That usually helped.

He walked over to the window, pressing his hand against the glass. The warmth of the sun shone on his skin and he let it sink in. Tiny drops of condensation rolled down the glass, Matt felt it when one drop burst.

An insect buzzed outside, its wings fluttering.

Matt had never been out of the city before. The closest he came to nature was a park he and his dad used to go to in Hell’s Kitchen. He almost missed the familiar hum of the city and the awful stench in the air. The air in the Compound was too artificial, too clean.

He wanted to leave, to return to his old life.

So he called Foggy.

His friend understood him. He always had.

Matt found himself spilling everything that happened, the acid, the lies, the guilt.

He listened to how Foggy asked him why he did it. Then listened as Foggy scolded him, telling him he needed to be truthful. They deserved to know the truth.

And Matt knew he was right. Foggy always was.