Chapter 1
It was pouring rain, the kind of storm that made Hell’s Kitchen feel like it was drowning. Matt Murdock leaned against the window, listening to the relentless pounding on the glass and the distant rumble of thunder. The world outside was a symphony of sounds, but inside, his apartment was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night.
Matt had planned on making some coffee, maybe reading in braille, but just as he reached for the coffee mug, there was a knock at his door.
It wasn’t a polite knock. More like someone half falling, half banging against the wood. The sound was desperate, ragged. And familiar.
Matt’s heightened senses kicked in immediately. The heartbeat outside the door was erratic, weak. Blood. Lots of it. And—
“Shit,” Matt muttered, moving toward the door. He flung it open, already knowing who it was before he even smelled the gunpowder and sweat mixed with blood.
Frank Castle stood there, or rather, leaned heavily against the doorframe. His face was pale, his usually sharp eyes dull and glazed over from pain. The Punisher was a mess. His shirt was soaked through, not just with rain but with blood, pooling around a wound in his abdomen. A long, deep gash ran across his thigh, and God knew what other injuries were hidden beneath his tactical gear.
“Hey, Red,” Frank rasped, barely managing to stay upright. “Got any spare Band-Aids?”
Matt cursed under his breath and pulled Frank inside, slamming the door shut behind them. “Jesus, Frank, you’re practically bleeding out.”
Frank let out a breathless chuckle, the sound more of a grunt as Matt guided him toward the couch. “What can I say? Had a rough night.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about to get rougher if you don’t sit down and shut up.”
Frank collapsed onto the couch, his body hitting the cushions with a dull thud. His head lolled back, and for a second, Matt thought he might pass out. He moved quickly, grabbing his med kit from under the kitchen sink. As he returned to Frank’s side, he could hear the faint wheeze in Frank’s breathing.
“Take your shirt off,” Matt instructed.
Frank raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Getting a little forward there, aren’t you, Red?”
Matt snorted, his hands working quickly. “Trust me, Castle, this isn’t for my benefit.”
Frank grunted as Matt peeled back the fabric of his shirt, revealing the mess underneath. The bullet wound in his abdomen wasn’t too deep, but it was still bleeding profusely. The knife slash on his thigh was worse—a long, jagged tear that had cut through muscle. Matt pressed a towel to the wound on Frank’s side, and Frank hissed in pain.
“Son of a—”
“Shut up and let me work,” Matt muttered, his voice a little softer than before.
Frank’s breathing was shallow, but he was still conscious enough to watch Matt as he worked, his dark eyes studying every movement. “You’ve got a good bedside manner, Red. Real soothing.”
Matt ignored him, his focus on cleaning the wounds. He was gentle, but thorough, and despite his best efforts, his hands brushed against Frank’s skin more often than necessary. Each touch made Frank’s breath hitch, just slightly, but Matt didn’t comment on it.
“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit anything vital,” Matt said, his voice strained as he stitched the wound closed. “But this knife wound… you’re gonna need stitches. You probably need a hospital.”
Frank scoffed, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”
Matt rolled his eyes, though he knew Frank couldn’t see the gesture behind his glasses. “Of course not.”
As Matt worked on stitching the gash on Frank’s thigh, his hand grazed the inside of Frank’s leg, causing him to tense. The movement was so subtle, so fleeting, but Matt’s heightened senses picked up on it immediately.
“Sorry,” Matt muttered, though the faintest smile played at the corner of his lips. He could hear Frank’s heart rate spike, just for a second, before it settled back into a more measured rhythm.
“Yeah, well, watch where you’re putting those hands, Red,” Frank grumbled, but the teasing lilt in his voice was unmistakable. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.”
Matt smirked as he tied off the last stitch. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Don’t have to. You’re already doing that for me.”
Matt shook his head, pressing a fresh bandage against Frank’s leg, but the smile on his face didn’t fade. “You know, you could just say thank you.”
“Thank you? For what? Stabbing me in the leg with a needle?”
“For saving your life, Frank. Again.”
Frank leaned back into the couch, his eyes half-lidded, exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I owe you one.”
Matt sat back, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it aside. “You owe me more than one.”
Frank’s eyes flickered toward him, and for a moment, the banter dropped. His voice was low, rough, but sincere. “Yeah. I know.”
The moment passed quickly, though, and Frank shifted on the couch, his arm brushing against Matt’s. “You got any whiskey? That’s about the only thing that’s gonna make this feel better.”
Matt let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stood. “No whiskey. You’ll have to settle for water.”
Frank groaned, tipping his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “Great. Just what I need. More water.”
Matt returned a moment later with a glass, handing it to Frank, who took it with a grunt of thanks. Frank’s fingers brushed against Matt’s as he took the glass, and for a second, their hands lingered, the touch just a little too long to be accidental.
Matt cleared his throat, pulling away quickly. “You’re staying here tonight.”
Frank raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of water. “You offering me a place to crash?”
“You’re not in any condition to leave, Frank. And I’m not letting you bleed out in the rain.”
Frank grinned, though it was a tired, lopsided smile. “You sure about that, Red? Seems like you’re getting a little attached.”
Matt rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his voice as he replied. “Shut up and drink your water.”
Frank chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”
As the storm raged on outside, Matt sat back on the couch, the distance between them narrowing. The tension hung in the air, unspoken but palpable, and as Frank settled in, his body close to Matt’s, it was clear that neither of them was in any hurry to break it.