One Step Closer- But Honey, You Went Too Far
The sun was coming up. Matt knew this from a variety of different sources. First, he could feel the way the dew had settled onto the ground. He could hear the way the birds sang, calling to each other, telling the whole wide world they had survived the night, that they were living another day. He could feel the way the sky was revolving around him, morning fog settling in, the sun’s warmth trying to reach beyond it. He could sense part of the city waking up, a different part finally setting down to sleep. He could smell the dawn on the morning air.
He was even more careful now, slow and hesitant as he tried to avoid attracting attention.
He slid in through a crack in a window at the basement of his church, always left open specifically for him. He transformed, even faster than before, letting the pain rush through his senses so he could be sure he was alert.
Matt stripped off his suit, and pulled on his stiff, scratchy button down shirt and slacks. It had been washed and folded neatly since his last time wearing it- he recognized the smell of the nun who had cleaned it. He wondered what she thought. Did she recognize it when he wore it, knowing it was he who she was laundering for? Did she simply see it and ask Father Lantom if she should clean it, or did he ask her? He didn’t know, but he would make sure to thank Father Lantom for it. He would pass it on to her if the situation called for it. He was incredible like that.
Matt had spent quite a bit of time in the basement of his church, simply from the amount of times he had changed from his Daredevil suit to his Sunday best before mass. He hadn’t transformed from his bat form there in a long time. Too long. It was almost unfamiliar to his bat-senses. He would have to remedy that.
Matt folded his suit and tucked it into his briefcase, which had lain underneath the clothes he was now wearing for this reason. People would simply assume he was holding onto something from his work and wouldn’t ask questions. He had done that often enough. Next to the hiding place for his clothes, he pulled out his stick and a pair of sunglasses- a rather nice pair, with white rims and dark blue lenses he had been told, a treasured gift from Father Lantom. He refused to wear them anywhere but in the church, for fear of them being damaged. They were definitely the nicest pair he owned.
He pulled on his socks and shoes, then brushed his hair with a comb he’d kept in his briefcase so he didn’t walk around with Daredevil helmet-hair- or post bat-flight hair. He slipped it in the briefcase and latched it closed, grabbing the handle and standing up.
He kind of hated the handle. It rubbed against his skin wrong, the texture too bumpy and rough for his senses. He ignored the discomfort.
He slipped up the stairs, making his way roundabout to mass so that he wouldn’t broadcast ‘I just came from the basement like a Suspicious Person’. He selected his regular bench- at the back, on the end, so he could get up and be ready for action if the situation required it, and so he could put most of his effort into focusing on mass itself, rather than watching his back. He couldn’t put all of his focus up there, of course- there were far too many ways to break through a wall, or run through the doors- but it was safer than not having a wall to his back. He made small talk with the other churchgoers as they filtered in, turning on his charm and pretending to be a friendly, social, regular guy.
As normal, Mrs. Pattington and her young grandson slid next to him. She always fell asleep halfway through, the poor dear, and he would help entertain her grandson so she wouldn’t wake up. The boy, Liam, would be a handful for two young parents. For a single old lady, still grieving her husband and mourning her lost relationship with her wayward daughter?
Well, she deserved every chance to rest she could.
“Cookies!” The boy chirped, pressing up against Matt’s leg.
“Hello, Liam,” he murmured, smiling at him. He could sense the way the boy beamed at him- could feel the wind rushing through the gaps, where he’d lost teeth. He imagined Liam was likely adorable, in a troublemaker-kid sort of way.
“What he means, dear,” Mrs. Pattington warbled, her voice quivering with her old age, “Is that we made cookies for you. You’re so good with Liam, so good to an old widow- we wanted to do something nice.”
“It was my idea!” Liam told him excitedly.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do anything for me,” Matt said, touched. “I very much enjoy your company.”
“Just take them, sweetie,” Mrs. Pattington insisted, shoving a pleasant smelling tub at him.
“Only if you share them with me,” Matt bargained, knowing that was the most he could hope for. Lawyer or not, he knew better than to argue too hard with Mrs. Pattington.
Liam eagerly grabbed two, and shoved another one into Matt’s hand and almost throwing another one at Mrs. Pattington.
Mrs. Pattington was a good cook, maybe, but Matt could taste exactly how… helpful Liam had been during the process. He could almost taste the story as to how it was made as he ate it, each ingredient, added on purpose or not, making itself known before combining.
He praised them, of course, and had a nice little chat before mass started.
Liam slid to the floor as soon as Mrs. Pattington fell asleep, and Matt kept him quiet and well behaved with a few well-placed taps from his stick. The kid spent the majority of the time drawing pictures with his crayons, making Matt trace the path with his fingers whenever he finished a picture, describing it softly. Matt was well experienced with listening to him and listening to mass at the same time, and couldn’t deny how fond he was of the boy, even if he was somewhat distracting.
The main problem Matt had was the smell. Several people in the church had been drained recently, and the smell of dust-ancient- blood agitated him and made things harder than usual. He wanted to get up and fight , not sit still and be nice and listen calmly and watch over Liam and not look like he wanted to get up and fight.
He, as usual, ignored all of this. He was more wary, more tense than normal, but that only showed in the rhythm he was tapping along his stick. He was used to fighting down the Devil during mass.
Everything went as it always did, despite his misgivings. At the end, he helped Liam put on his coat and gather his things, and walked Mrs. Pattington to the door. She always thought it was funny when they did that- asking who was leading who, the elderly or the blind.
He walked back inside as the room slowly cleared out, walking to the back so he could wait for Father Lantom as the priest mingled with his people.
Absently, he traced one of the carvings, imagining it decorated in every color he could think of. Sometimes, he thought his imagination was better than actually seeing the real thing, because he had freedom in his mind. Looks didn’t matter. He imagined them how they made him feel. Things felt almost too honest that way, sometimes, but sometimes the truth was refreshing, considering he lived in a world of lies.
He recognized the sounds of Father Lantom’s body as he walked up to Matt. He was familiar with every creak of his joints, every beat of his heart, every little sound his body made, the way he breathed, the sound of his footsteps. He knew the sounds of Father Lantom like he knew no one else- not even Foggy or Karen.
He had lost himself to the music of his priest, which was what made it so jarring when he didn’t smell the familiar scent of Father Lantom when he walked up.
Matt whirled around, eyes wide with horror. He felt the way Father Lantom’s heart stuttered, the way his steps faltered. “Mathew?”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no ,” a voice said. It took a moment for Matt to realize it came from him. He didn’t care.
He stepped forward, reaching for Father Lantom, who stilled to let him do… whatever it was. He couldn’t appreciate the faith his priest had in him right then, however- or feel overwhelmed and unworthy.
Matt’s calloused fingers brushed against Father Lantom’s neck, feeling the miniscule scabs. Father Lantom’s hand came up, feeling what Matt had touched. Two healing puncture wounds, that smelled like blood-dust-ancient-steril- death . “ Oh. ”