Frank walked down the pavement, his footsteps muffled by the snow that covered the ways. It was Christmas Eve, a time that Frank would really rather have forgotten, for so many reasons.
His bones still ached from the full moon a week previous, screaming even more from what he’d done that night. Saved one person, made the white snow red with another.
Seeing a familiar mop of red hair, Frank raised an eyebrow, walking over.
Matt Murdock was…a pain in Frank’s ass. Daredevil was to be more exact, Matt and Frank got along fine, he supposed. But Matt disapproved of the Punisher’s tactics and Frank envied Daredevil so much that they were always butting heads.
“Hey Frank” Matt said, his voice soft as he sat on the bench outside the church. Frank nodded, though he knew Matt couldn’t see it,
“Hey Red” He said, gesturing, “What’re you doing in the cold?”
Matt’s lips twist into a dry smile. Frank knows why,
“This is the closest I can get”
Frank looks up at the church, then at Matt again. If you’d asked Frank a few years ago, a catholic vampire had to have been the funniest shit he’d have ever heard of, but now? Now it was just sort of sad…still funny, but…
“Mind if I sit?” Frank asks and Matt shakes his head,
“Maybe it’ll warm me up”
“Oh ha ha” Frank says sarcastically, sitting down beside Matt anyways. Their thighs are touching, neither of them says a word about it.
They sit quietly a few minutes, if Frank focuses, he can hear Christmas Mass clear as day. He speaks quietly,
“Can you hear the mass?” Frank asks and Matt hesitates,
“...Sort of, but…there’s so much other stuff, it gets hard to focus”
Frank purses his lips. With Matt’s vampire senses and the enhanced senses to make up for his lack of sight, it makes sense. Frank can only hear the Priest, Father Lantom he thinks is his name, Frank met him once. Actually liked the man.
“...Loving God, help us remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the songs of angels, the gladness of the shepherds”
Matt scrunches his nose in confusion, but then seems to realise. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head so Frank can keep reciting the prayers, even softly sing the Hymns. His voice is actually lovely, deep and rich in a way that ironically reminds Matt of dark chocolate.
Frank doesn’t mention it either, just keeps speaking, listening into the church and reciting for Matt. He doesn’t look at the vampire, doesn’t want to admit that the words feel filthy coming from his mouth, that he’s stained these holy words somehow by him being the one to say them.
The prayers fall quiet, Matt speaks,
“What’s happening?” He whispers, Frank tilts his head,
“Breaking bread…”
“Oh”
“...Best I got for you is half a cannoli and my own blood, but I’m a long ways away from Christ” Frank chuckles, trying to lighten how Matt must be feeling and thankfully, he chuckles,
“Beggars can’t be choosers I suppose”
That makes Frank do a double take, Matt still looks amused,
“I’m kidding, I’ve fed already…”
“...So it would be a little bit?”
The tension is suddenly there. A thick one, that Matt doubts Frank can slice with claws and that Frank doubts Matt can bite with fangs. Matt swallows,
“...Are you okay with that Frank?”
Matt gets his reply by Frank shuffling, pulling out a small ziploc bag. The sweetness of a cannoli hits Matt’s nose and he hears Frank break off a piece, he opens his mouth.
It amuses Matt internally, if he thinks about it. Frank Castle, The Punisher, being so kind about this, being a pseudo priest for Matt on Christmas Eve, just so he can show his devotion to a God who by all meanings of the phrase, has turned him away, abandoned him for the sin of lust, a lust for blood that will never be quenched.
Matt hears a switchblade click open, hears Frank hiss and then the smell of Frank’s blood hits him.
It makes his head swim. Matt had heard from other vampires that the two beings who had the worst smelling blood were Succbi and Werewolves. Elektra and Frank, Elektra isn’t here, wouldn’t be caught dead near a church, but Frank is. And Frank is all Matt can think of as Frank raises his hand, allowing Matt to take a mouthful of his blood.
It tastes like coffee, it tastes bitter and it tastes warm. Frank had always reminded Matt of walking inside a warm house after a bitterly cold autumn day, the nipping at his cheeks and hands, the cool air in his lungs being replaced by warmth.
Frank moves his hand away, Matt licks over his lips.
They don’t say anything for a few moments. And then Frank continues with repeating the prayers.
Mass finishes, both of them stand to leave before everyone else can and Matt tilts his head to Frank,
“Thank you” he says softly and Frank kicks at some snow,
“Don’t mention it” he says and then pauses, “Merry Christmas, Red”
“Merry Christmas, Frank.”