Dark Corners
The city was a symphony of threats.
Matt pressed himself against the rough brick of an alley wall, trying to catch his breath. He'd only covered three blocks, but his body was already betraying him. Every heartbeat seemed to echo through his skull, his enhanced senses making even the smallest sounds feel like explosions.
A group of alphas passed by the alley's entrance, their scents aggressive and territorial. Matt held his breath, willing himself to stay still, to remain unnoticed. Without his suppressants, he knew his omega scent was becoming more pronounced by the hour. In this neighborhood, that was as good as painting a target on his back.
"Just keep moving," he whispered to himself, pushing off from the wall. His legs trembled with each step, and the rough fabric of his clothes felt like sandpaper against his fever-hot skin.
A police siren wailed three blocks over. Instinctively, Matt mapped out the sound - domestic disturbance, based on the dispatch codes he could hear. Before Midland Circle, he would have already been moving to help. Now, he could barely help himself.
The pawn shop Maggie had mentioned was still four blocks away. Matt forced himself to focus on his surroundings, building a mental map of potential escape routes and hiding spots. His radar sense painted the world in fire, but the edges were blurring, his concentration slipping as his body fought against him.
"Hey, you okay there, buddy?"
The voice startled him - he hadn't noticed anyone approaching, another dangerous slip in his awareness. A beta, male, concerned but not threatening. Probably one of the local homeless who frequented these alleys.
"Fine," Matt managed, straightening up and trying to project strength he didn't feel. "Just taking a shortcut."
"You don't look fine." The man took a step closer, and Matt tensed. "You need me to call someone?"
"No." The word came out sharper than intended. Matt forced his voice to soften. "Thank you. I'm almost home."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but it worked. The man retreated, though Matt could hear him muttering about "stupid omegas" under his breath. The words made him flinch, but at least the man was leaving.
Three more blocks. Matt focused on putting one foot in front of the other, using the building walls for support when he had to. His enhanced hearing picked up fragments of life from the apartments above - families having dinner, couples arguing, children being put to bed. Normal lives, untouched by the darkness he lived in.
The scent hit him first - antiseptic and chemicals, mixed with something distinctly medicinal. The dealer was close. Matt paused at the corner, listening intently. Two heartbeats behind the pawn shop - the dealer and what sounded like a customer, their transaction almost complete.
He waited in the shadows until the customer left, then made his way down the narrow alley behind the shop. His feet scraped against broken glass and discarded needles, each step carefully placed despite his weakening state.
"We're closed," the dealer called out before Matt even rounded the corner. "Come back tomorrow."
Matt recognized the voice - deeper now than he remembered, but still with that slight Jersey accent. "Joey Martinez. It's been a while."
The dealer's heart rate spiked. "Holy shit. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen." A metallic click - switchblade, cheap steel. "Everyone thinks you're dead."
"Maybe I am." Matt stayed where he was, hands raised slightly to show he wasn't a threat. "I'm not here to cause trouble."
"No?" Joey's heart was racing, but his voice stayed steady. "Last time we met, you put three of my guys in the hospital."
"And then I let you go." Matt took a careful step forward. "Because I knew you were helping people who needed it. Omegas who had nowhere else to turn."
A long pause. Joey's scent shifted from fear to curiosity. "You're not wearing your suit."
"No." Matt swallowed hard. The admission cost him, but he forced the words out. "Tonight, I'm not here as Daredevil. I'm here as... someone who needs help."
Understanding dawned in Joey's chemosignals. "No shit. You're an-"
"Don't." Matt cut him off sharply. "Please."
Another pause. The switchblade closed with a snap. "What do you need?"
"Suppressants. Strong ones. And..." Matt hesitated, hating himself for the weakness. "And age blockers."
Joey's heart skipped a beat - surprise, maybe shock. But to his credit, he didn't comment. "That's a dangerous combination, especially the good stuff. Could kill you if you're not careful."
"I know what I'm doing." Matt's legs were starting to shake again. He leaned against the wall, trying to make it look casual. "I can pay."
"Money's not the issue." Joey moved closer, his footsteps careful. "You saved my little sister once, you know. From those traffickers by the docks. Never knew it was you until later, but... I owe you."
Matt hadn't known that. He stored the information away, nodding slightly.
"But this stuff you're asking for..." Joey continued, "it's not just dangerous, it's addictive. And mixing suppressants with age blockers... there's a reason it's controlled."
"I don't have a choice." The words came out raw, honest in a way Matt hadn't intended.
Joey was quiet for a long moment, his chemosignals a mix of concern and resignation. Finally, he sighed. "Wait here."
Matt listened as Joey disappeared into what seemed to be a hidden room in the back of the pawn shop. His enhanced hearing picked up the sound of multiple locks, then the creak of old hinges. When Joey returned, his arms were full of small bottles that clinked together softly.
"Three months' worth," Joey said, holding out the supplies. "Suppressants, scent blockers, age blockers, and some vitamins to help counter the side effects. Take them exactly as labeled or they'll fuck you up worse than whatever you're running from."
Matt reached for the bottles with trembling hands, carefully counting and identifying each one by touch and smell. "How much?"
"Like I said, I owe you." Joey stepped back. "But this is a one-time thing. Next time, you pay full price like everyone else."
The generosity was unexpected and almost unwelcome - it felt too much like pity. But Matt was in no position to refuse. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." Joey's voice hardened. "Just... be careful, man. This path you're on? I've seen it destroy people. Better to accept who you are than-"
"I know who I am." Matt cut him off, tucking the bottles into his pockets. "I'm the man this city needs me to be."
Joey's heart rate suggested he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. "Your funeral. But hey, if you ever need a refill... you know where to find me."
Matt nodded once, then turned to leave. His legs felt steadier now, knowing he had what he needed. But Joey's voice stopped him at the alley's entrance.
"Hey, Devil?" There was something like sympathy in his tone. "Whatever you're hiding from... it catches up eventually. Always does."
Matt didn't respond. He merged back into the shadows of Hell's Kitchen, clutching his precious cargo close. The journey back to St. Agnes seemed both longer and shorter than the trip out - each step was agony, but his mind was focused solely on getting somewhere safe to take the first dose.
The city continued its nocturnal symphony around him - sirens and laughter, fights and love-making, all the chaos of life that he usually found so overwhelming. But tonight, it was just background noise to the pounding of his heart and the rattle of pills in his pockets.
Salvation and damnation, all in little plastic bottles.
When he finally reached the church, he didn't bother with the window. His enhanced hearing told him the side door was unlocked - Sister Maggie's doing, no doubt. He slipped inside, the familiar scents of incense and candle wax washing over him.
In the basement bathroom, Matt's trembling fingers traced the labels on each bottle. He'd done this enough times to know the exact combination needed - suppressants first, then scent blockers, age blockers last. The pills felt like stones in his throat as he swallowed them dry.
It would take hours for them to fully take effect, but already he could feel a phantom sense of relief. Soon, he would be strong again. Soon, he would be in control.
Soon, he would be the man everyone thought he was.
Matt curled up on the narrow bed, listening to his own heartbeat slow as the medications began to work. Above him, the church bells tolled midnight, marking another day of lies and secrets and survival.
But at least now he could keep fighting. Keep pretending. Keep being the hero Hell's Kitchen needed, even if it meant destroying the person he really was.
Sleep came eventually, bitter and dreamless, while the pills worked their chemical magic on his treacherous body and mind.