Black and Midnight Blue

It was dark, and you were cold.

The metal stretcher against the wall had a thin layer of cushioning that your aching body would have welcomed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lie there - not even without the threat of needles piercing your skin. You’d already gotten a dose early in the morning, and although the side effects weren’t as noticeable anymore, you still felt a few shakes, shivers crossing through your skin as your muscles twitched.

Your stomach rumbled, crying out to you in its total emptiness, twisting and spurning itself as if it could grind off some of its own cells for nutrition. The sandpaper that your lips and throat had become was grating, new grains of sand seeming to form in your chest by the second. You coughed from where you lay, bare arms resting tiredly against cold linoleum, prickled with goosebumps.

Trying to sleep was futile. It had been hours behind this locked door already, and if your hunger wouldn’t keep you awake, your fear would.

The doorknob twisted, and you shot up, breaths coming quick through your young lungs. You scooted backward on the floor, pushing and pushing until your back hit plastic paneling. A slow, high-pitched sob began to trail up your vocal cords, and you clamped a hand over your mouth, then the other, desperate not to reveal yourself.

Scarface had shoved you in here after a training session - after you heard guards in the hall call out something about a breach. He’d hit you harder than usual today, and with your hands clamped over your mouth, you could just trace the trail of dried blood beneath your nose with your fingertips. Hot, silent tears streamed heated, branding lines down from the inner corners of your eyes. They mingled with that crimson reminder of your morning, making lost blood alive again as it smeared under your fingers.

A slam resounded against the door, and you shook against the wall. It took two more blows before the door swung open, its knob hitting the wall with a bang. Your eyes widened at the view of the hallway; lights flashed as people marched to and fro - some you recognized, some you didn’t.

And the man you recognized least of all stood in that doorway, entirely in shadow. Though you couldn’t make out the details of his face, you did notice one distinctive characteristic: he carried a cane.

Your breaths came quick and harried, sobs nearly impossible to stop as you pressed yourself back against the wall, willing it to open up and swallow you backward until you were finally, finally safe. The man stepped forward and shut the door behind him with a soft click, trapping you back in darkness. Your eyes grew crazed and harried, their tears coming in greater numbers than you thought they ever had before.

This is it, you thought to yourself.

Unless I can fight him off, this is really it.

And, you were almost ready to stand, almost ready to give your best shot through the saltwater rivers down your face and hands and neck - until the man spoke.

“Hey, kid. Hey, hey. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t listen, your eyes narrowing as you watched him come closer. He took one step too far for comfort, and you shot to your feet, pulling your hands into fists at your sides. The man flipped his hands up, stepping back.

“I promise.” 

And then came the real promise - the promise that would alter the trajectory of your life even more than it had already been irreversibly changed:

“We’re gonna get you out of here.”

You only sneered at the man through your lashes, full of disbelief.

“And who the fuck is we?”

Although it was dark, you could feel his brows shoot up. A beat passed, and he laughed.

“Wow.”

Another beat passed. You tilted your head, feeling rage swarm inside you, the shakes from your earlier dose finally subsiding in the face of a potential threat.

“You gonna answer my question?” You hissed, riling up the muscles in your arms. Sure, you were tired, but you were more than capable of fighting back if you had to.

The man’s response was another laugh. With a shake of his head, he reached behind his back and drew a gun from his waistband. Your eyes widened in fear, and you would have charged at him had the movement been slower. With a quick swing, he tossed the weapon to you, and you just barely caught it in wary, skeptical hands.

“First lesson, kid,” the man spoke, turning back toward the door. “When someone comes to save your ass, you don’t ask stupid questions. You just go.”

Your visitor twisted the knob, pulling the door open with a wide swing as you handled the weapon. You didn’t know much about guns, but you could tell that this one was loaded - and that realization sent bile and nerves racing up the back of your throat.

He threw a loaded gun at me?

As you twisted the gun in your hands, you looked back up at the intruder, who turned around to get one more word in before letting the door shut behind him.

“I’ll see you outside. You’re gonna want to keep your finger on that trigger.”

You didn’t see him outside. Hell, you didn’t see him again for another year or so - but you did what he told you to do, escaping with the help of your limited knowledge of the compound, the painful invigoration of your last dose, and the gun clamped between your clammy hands. 

You’d meet again, though, formal introductions and everything, and learn that he was far from a savior.

Escaping Stick was more difficult than escaping Scarface and his goons. You’d vowed to run from him forever, to give yourself a warm and simple life, free of the past - and yet, here you were in Matt’s living room, with that very enemy standing across from you in open contempt.

Matt seemed to have transcended confusion, entering into some other plane of existence entirely. His brows were furrowed together so hard it seemed as though they were trying to gouge out his eyes, which were wide enough on their own, scattered as they shot back and forth. His mouth was slightly parted, and the curl of his lip was nothing short of stunned.

Not that you weren’t in the same position. You were just, first and foremost, furiously shocked to see Stick in all his apathetic glory after all these years - but the fact that he was in Matt’s goddamn living room?

What the actual, ever-living fuck?

Matt turned to you, incredulous. “You know him?”

Your brows shot up so high you thought they’d hit your scalp. “You know him?”

Stick tipped his head between you and Matt, a snicker gracing his lips. “I’ll be honest with the two of you - I did not see this coming. Not in a million years.”

Gaze shooting to Stick, you narrowed your eyes. “Big talk from an elderly-ass motherfucker like you. Really thought you’d be in the ground already after a million years of your bullshit.”

Matt’s brows rose sharply at your comment. Stick just tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling out in a spiteful smile.

“Missed your wit, kid.”

You tossed back that same scornful smile, your eyes dead cold.

“And I missed seeing you bleed. Maybe we can do it again this time.”

“Okay,” Matt interjected, his hands floating up. “What-“

“Don’t worry about it, Matty,” Stick turned to Matt. “But I wouldn’t get attached to this one if I were you. Bad habit of running away.“ He then paused for a minute, thinking. “Actually, maybe you could learn a thing or two from her-“

“No, no, no,” Matt interrupted. “You ambush me in the middle of a mission, start talking about this damn war, and now you-“

“Matty, please.” Stick continued, waving a hand at Matt. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly shut it.

Matt knows Stick, and he knows about the war shit? 

Stick twisted his lips, swirling the beer in his hand as he considered how easily Matt mentioned a mission in your presence. “So, she obviously knows, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” you hummed, stiff in your stance, each word pure sarcasm. “And she’s right here.”

“And the abandoned little girl wants attention again,” Stick spat, his voice curving and curling with grit. “What’s that new name you made up for yourself? Selena O’Malley? Ridiculous.”

You shook your head. “I did what I had to do.” 

Stick laughed.

“You took the coward’s way out. That’s what you did.”

Matt’s face tugged back into a frown.

“Can one of you explain to me what the hell is going on?”

You tipped your head in exasperation, eyes catching on the dim billboard light through Matt’s window as they fluttered. “I could ask the same goddamn thing.” 

Stick shook his head, gesturing out with his beer-holding hand.

“Okay, you two fuckin’ lovebirds, let me-“

You and Matt shot your heads around to face Stick with bitter, fiery scorn.

“Stick, we are not lovebirds-“

“Would you please just-“

“Let me talk to Selena over here for another minute, okay, Matty?” Stick chided sharply, interrupting both you and Matt. “Is that okay with you?”

Matt shifted his jaw, his stance on full aggression mode toward Stick - before he sighed, taking a step back. Stick turned to you, pursing those wrinkled old lips. He seemed shorter now that you weren’t only fifteen.

“So, Selena - the little bird met the dumbass in black,” he hummed, taking a swig of his drink. “Crazy world, isn’t it?”

You set your jaw. “How did you know that was me?”

“You know I’ve got my ways.”

Your scoff was sharp. “Yeah, ways of fucking up people’s lives-“

“Hey, I saved your sorry ass-“

“And yet I still had to escape you,” You spat, your lip curling as you worked to stifle the growing rage beneath your skin. “I had to run and run and take whatever protection I could get so you, or they, wouldn’t drag me back to that hell.”

“No, you didn’t have to,” Stick crowed flippantly. “You chose to. You chose to erase your identity, thinking you were reclaiming some sort of sorry-ass, weak-ass sense of self.” He narrowed those gray eyes, his nose wrinkling up as he spoke. “Really, though, you lost every part of you that made you worth any more than the scum I rescued you from.”

Matt sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his searching eyes looked for some way to understand. You simply took a breath, fighting off the impulse to slap Stick across his thickly-lined face.

“I did reclaim who I am, and I did it on my own terms. A different name doesn’t change a thing-“

“Kid, the only real proof of whoever it is you think you are is your mother’s corpse, rotting somewhere in the dirt,” Stick hissed, nearly laughing. “Unless the rats have already chewed up her flesh and spat it right back out where it belongs.“

Your jaw dropped, lips curling back in a scowl as your eyes and stomach caught bitter, raging fire.

He did not just go there.

“Stick,” Matt called out sharply, his tone shadowed in something like a growl. “That’s enough. Stop it.”

You took a deep breath, trying to settle the nerve Stick had struck before you struck him in the nose. Not caring, as usual, Stick half-laughed, his focus shifting to Matt before jumping back to you.

“Woah, woah, woah - you teach Matty this attitude?”

“I didn’t teach Matty a thing,” you hissed, “but I’d be interested to know why you’re in his apartment.”

Stick paused, his focus on you settling for a moment, before stepping back, his lips curving downward as he gestured to Matt. “Well, go ahead, kid. Tell your girlfriend all about it.”

Matt scowled, shaking his head at Stick’s mockery. “Shut the fuck up.”

You eyed Matt carefully as he turned to you. Closing his eyes, he ran his tongue over his lips, reaching a hand back to drag it through his hair. You found your breaths picking up just a touch, shallow and light, as you anticipated whatever it was he was about to reveal.

“Stick… Stick taught me a lot,” Matt started with a sigh. “He found me after my dad died when I was at St. Agnes - the orphanage.” You watched him as his brows flicked, his lips pursing together in a slight twitch before parting once more, hovering on a breath before he continued. 

“He taught me how to fight, how to develop my abilities - how to not let my disability hold me back. Trained me, if you will.”

Your eyes softened at Matt’s explanation. Stick had never explained his abilities to you, but it tracked that if there were two blind guys who could fight like professional martial artists, their abilities were probably pretty close to the same. A part of you warmed at the fact that Matt hadn’t been left totally alone in figuring it all out - even though the person who kept him company was none other than the most unbearable old man on the planet.

“Stick,” Matt started again, flicking his tongue over his lips. “Stick caused me a lot of suffering, but he’s a big reason why I was able to…” he breathed, tipping his head to you with a shade of sad, pensive remembrance in his downturned eyes. “To move forward.”

A string within your chest unfurled at Matt’s admission, clearing up for you that, no, he probably didn’t suffer a past similar to yours.

Not that he’s without struggle.

Just…

Just a relief in that respect. 

Stick lifted his beer to his heart. “You’re making me tear up. Really.”

Matt rolled his eyes, keeping his attention on you even as his jaw flickered. “He did a lot to help me, yeah, but he also did a lot to fuck me up.”

You snorted. “Relatable.”

“Oh, boo hoo, you sorry little fuckers,” Stick sneered, that false warmth in his voice long gone. He turned to you. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way - Selena, you wanna explain things to Matty? Or are you not yet on a real-name basis, let alone a tragic-backstory one?”

You shook your head, ignoring the dig. Turning back to Matt, you glanced down at your hands. Your fingers interlocked, pulled apart, and intertwined once more before one of your hands dragged up to play with the end of your sleeve. Matt waited in patient curiosity as you searched for the best way to explain things - and you lifted your head to face him, deciding that, really, there was no easy way to spell out such a strange and traumatizing part of your past.

To be totally honest with yourself, you had no desire to tell Matt the truth of your past. Maybe you’d want to eventually, but the people who knew about what you'd been through were incredibly few and far between, and it was your deepest wish to keep it that way.

But if you weren’t going to tell Matt, Stick would. And you were not about to let Stick spin your story into his own fucked-up little mess.

“Basically…” You started, trailing off. You tugged your lip between your teeth and released it, letting out a long breath. “Look, Matt, this is gonna sound insane, okay?” He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side, and you shifted your jaw.

“I swear I’m telling the truth - you’ll know I’m telling the truth,” you cautioned once more, “but I won’t blame you if you… I don’t know - if you think it’s too much.”

Matt’s brows knit together and released. He licked his lips and dipped his head just slightly, mouth curving out into a slow, small smile. The gesture was threaded with comfort, making you feel as if it was just the two of you in his apartment.

His assurance was breathy and soft, easing the tension in your chest.

“Try me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Stick threw his head back in exasperation before downing another long gulp of his beer. You ignored him, settling yourself - and began, deciding you could just give Matt a simple rundown. Enough to prevent Stick from saying more than you were comfortable with and still letting you open up the wounds of your past on your own terms.

Just breathe.

In, out, and…

“Stick, and a group he led, got me out of this… criminal ring that had abducted me when I was thirteen.”

That first sentence alone made Matt’s brows shoot up. 

Understandable.

You took another deep breath and continued.

“That ring - they forced me to learn to fight to survive. They’d… they’d teach me things, train me….” you paused, reflecting on those painful memories of violence cased within the back of your brain, your eyes flashing red in hard remembrance as you prepared to share the end of the sentence. “…And then they’d beat me into fighting back.” 

Something sorrowful had cracked its way through Matt’s eyes as he listened to you speak. You turned away from it, keeping your expression stoic, even as you felt a small crack of your own split through your chest.

“One of their leaders, he had this need to be at the top, this need to be known as the best - and he wanted to use me to do it,” you continued. “He had this idea in his head that I was some sort of chosen one - some sort of weapon for them.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “A weapon?”

“They wanted her to kill people, Matty,” Stick jumped in. “Wanted her to be some psyched-out, homicidal maniac they could spring on their enemies whenever they needed to. Thought she was that Black Sky thing I tried to tell you about.”

Your eyes flitted to Matt, then to Stick.

Matt… knows so much.

So much more than I ever could have expected.

Stick continued. “She wouldn’t do it, so they took it upon themselves to find ways to force her. You know that guy - what’s his fuckin’ name, the spandex war hero with the damn shield-“

You shifted your jaw.

Really, Stick?

Sure, like Matt doesn’t know enough already.

Matt pulled a face at the seemingly random point. “Steve Rogers?” 

Stick lifted a pointed finger at Matt, his head bobbing up and down.

“That’s the one. Well, this leader asshole was an ambitious guy. I’ll give him that. He was willing to find whatever way he could to-“

“What the hell does Captain America have to do with anything?” Matt interrupted, pissed off at Stick’s odd redirection of the conversation. You pursed your lips, resigning yourself to the fact that the point was already brought forth.

No going back now.

“Super soldier serum,” you stated coldly, turning back to Matt - whose eyes narrowed with even more confusion. The memory of those painful shivers wracking your body surged through you at the very statement of the thing, and you gulped harshly, trying to cast away the phantom sensations. “It was this bootleg version the guy got created in a lab. He’d microdose it to me at first, just to see what would happen, whether it was worth it. And it worked enough for him to give me full shots - but it didn’t work like the regular stuff.” 

Matt listened on in morbid intrigue, though it was heavily laced with concern. Sympathy and confused interest mingled in his eyes as they settled in your direction.

“My body stayed the same, appearance-wise, but my strength grew, my speed, agility - everything. The effects would wear off, though, unlike the normal serum, so I’d get doses of it frequently. As it built up in my blood, I started retaining some of the strength, but the side effects got worse and worse over time.” You clenched your jaw, the feeling of leather straps around your wrists and needles up your arms less a distant memory than a recent nightmare. “I remember once getting a shot of it and not being able to move for hours. Just excruciating pain.”

The concern in Matt’s eyes was unwavering, but he nodded thoughtfully. “So that’s where the strength comes from.“

“Yeah. It’s worn off a lot over the years, but I’ve still got some left.”

Pulling that beer bottle away from his lips once more, Stick chuckled. “Not enough strength to get the job done, though.” 

You rolled your eyes, refusing to engage with the quip - although a spark rose in your gut.

“This man - he did want me to kill people. He’d threaten me with stronger doses, more frequent ones, use a day off of training as an incentive. He’d fight me until I was out cold, and as I got stronger, yeah-” you spat bitterly, “sometimes he’d be the one to hit the floor. But I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.”

“Just a soulless little piece of shit, trying and failing to build his own super soldier out of some girl,” Stick interjected again, almost laughing as if this was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “You’re no Steve Rogers, that’s for sure.”

Your patience wearing thin, you turned to face Stick with narrowed eyes, venom in the bite of your gaze. 

“And what am I, then?”

He didn’t waste a beat.

“Nothing but a defenseless, weak little rat who got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You sneered at Stick, remembering the ferocity with which he’d tried to convince you that you were the ultimate protector they needed, that you’d be the reason they won that stupid war. “That’s not what you told me back then.”

He only shrugged. “Guess I was just desperate enough to believe some bitchy little girl was more than just some bitchy little girl.” 

You shifted your jaw, nostrils flaring, as Stick stepped toward you, his voice lowering into a growl of a glower. 

“I was wrong. You’re not shit.” 

“I-“

“I tried to help her,” Stick spoke over you, turning to Matt - who shot his head to Stick with narrowed, flaming eyes. “I really did. Sometimes-“

“Would you let her talk?” Matt hissed. You licked over your lower lip and turned your gaze back to Matt, glad for his interjection but too riled up to fully enjoy the concern.

“Stick did get me out of there, but he brought me right back into the same damn environment, only this time, it was the team on the other side. They said it was a war.”

Matt tipped his head to the side, his lips quirking sarcastically upward as he turned to face Stick. “A war, huh?”

Stick shook his head in laughing exasperation, the little beer left in his bottle swirling with the movements, his hands gesturing for emphasis. “A war is a war. Just because you two cocksuckers think war is some outdated concept of distant history doesn’t mean that’s not what this is.”

Your brow furrowed. Stick's mention of the war in present tense seemed odd, considering how long it had been since you’d escaped him as it apparently was waging around you.

“What it is?”

Stick scowled, spitting sharp, stabbing words your way.

“What, you think it ended when you left? Started when you got there? You know, it’s not easy to set up an army, but soldiers aren’t exactly irreplaceable. A centuries-old conflict doesn’t just end because a little brat like you decides to cut it and run-“

“Stick.” Matt huffed sharply.

You sucked in a deep breath, clenching your jaw at Stick’s outburst.

“Stick wanted me to be exactly what his enemies wanted me to be. A weapon.”

Matt’s brows flickered as he faced you, and Stick closed his eyes with an impatient sigh.

“The Hand, Matty. It was some fringe part of the Hand that took her. Thought she was their Black Sky like we just talked about.” He turned to you like a preschool teacher struggling with the temper tantrums of their worst student. “I’ve tried to explain it to him. I really have.”

Matt ignored Stick’s derision. “So Stick wanted you to be a part of - the Chaste?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “But I escaped before he could really get the chance to use me.”

Matt stilled, then moved his head in a slow, thoughtful nod. He took a deep breath and lifted his hands to rest them on his hips. The light behind him streamed out gold and dim from his windows, streaking his shadow along the floor beside you, and you watched as his expression flashed something red - something that painted his brown eyes crimson and caught his jaw in a tight clench. Matt turned to Stick with a hard press of his lips together before turning back to you.

“And how old were you through all this?”

A swirl grew in your stomach, and you took a moment to still yourself, closing your eyes as if to cast away the memories and the pain of years lost. “Thirteen when I was first taken. Fourteen when Stick took me to his side - and fifteen when I got out.”

The light behind him seemed darker as Matt’s brow twitched. He shifted his jaw, that dark glare in his eyes harsh but fleshed out in something soft, something to soothe the ache within your chest. He then whipped his head back to Stick, his voice a tearing growl.

“Are you fucking serious? Drawing a kid into something like that?”

Stick scoffed, gesturing sharply with his beer-holding hand. “Oh, please. You were a kid.”

“And you weren’t making me kill people,” Matt spat, his voice low and harsh as he leaned toward Stick. “Didn’t abduct me, either.”

“I didn’t make her kill people. I couldn’t. The little bitch just wouldn’t do it,” Stick shrugged, entirely ignoring Matt’s mention of abduction. Matt glowered at Stick, and for a moment, you felt a swirl of fear rise in your gut, knowing that if Matt hadn’t been on your side, you’d have much to fear. His tone was cutting.

“You call her a bitch one more time, and I swear to God-”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Matty, I’m sorry. Jesus,” Stick hissed, stepping back with guilty hands outstretched. Matt’s chest heaved with a long, deep breath, and Stick took a final swig of his beer, downing the last few drops. “So, she’s not a b-word, fine, but there’s always been a chance those motherfuckers were right about her.”

You jerked your head back, upper lip curling. “Right about me? What, like I really am their weapon?”

“For all we know, you very well could be. Do enough evil shit in your free time.” 

Matt’s brows drew together, and he shifted his jaw, turning to face you. Keeping your eyes trained on Stick, the tilt of your head was less quizzical and more of a seriously-are-you-really-going-there sort of look. Stick scoffed all the same.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Stick took a step closer to Matt, and you willed him to shut his sorry ass up - but you also knew that if you pushed, he’d push harder, so you pressed your lips together to keep quiet, your nose twitching as your eyes glazed over.

“She did a few favors for some mobsters back in her orphaned-and-alone phase, ended up with some top degree from a top school, and got enough connections to take down every enemy of those very mobsters who helped her to the top.” 

You opened your mouth, breath shaky. “Stick-“

He cut you off with a sharp call of your real name, the sound of it slicing into your bones. His tone even seemed to make Matt twitch.

“She worked with some pretty evil people. Did them favors, got her pay, and moved right on up. I swear, the only way some scrawny teenager like you would get a good foster situation, an actual adoption,“ he sneered, his brows curving upward. “Had to be those assholes you worked for. And then, after they got you your damn degree, you cut them down at the knees, too.”

Your knuckles had grown white with the tight clench of each fist, fingertips digging divots into the cracks of your palms. 

“I had no choice,” you hissed. “I had no one. Nothing-“

“You made your choice,” Stick drawled. “We’ve been over this.”

Across from you, Matt’s face seemed to flash with something thoughtful, some of that crimson from earlier still in his eyes. It was overshadowed now, though, with waves of sorrowful blue and an unsure flow of concern. You bit your lip, that glaze over your eyes thickening by the second.

Sure, Matt didn’t know the details - but Stick’s explanation didn’t exactly cast you in a favorable light. Stick pursed his lips downward, giving a light shrug that drew your shaky eyes right back toward him. 

“That’s the Nightingale for you - gets the benefits she can, weasels her way into the inside, and takes shit down from the top until every head hits the floor, oozing red.” A surprised scowl flashed over Matt’s face, and Stick rolled his eyes, facing you head-on. “Might not have directly killed anyone, but we both know that people have died in your wake. No avoiding that.”

You just stood there, your body frozen beneath the light of Matt’s windows, every breath coming slower and more controlled than the one before, for fear of losing that control. Stick sighed.

“Don’t get me wrong, kid. I’m proud of you. Just telling it like it is.”

You glanced to Matt - who, frozen as you were, kept his face trained toward the floor. With a sigh of your own, you drew your eyes back to Stick, every carefully cut word crossed with striking cold.

“Why the hell are you even here?”

Stick drew a long, low breath. He settled himself, stiffening his stance, each word crafted of pure grit.

“Shipment on the docks tonight. Could be the real thing. I was gonna take Matty as my soldier, but I might as well bring an extra.”

You frowned. The day had been tiring enough - but if Matt was going, you couldn’t just stay back. Besides, this was Stick, and if he meant what he meant, you felt you had a responsibility to fight this, even if you had to do it alongside him.

“The real thing?” 

Stick nodded.

“They’ve got a Black Sky.”

A scorning laugh drew up through your lungs, even as your suspicions of what Stick had been referring to were confirmed. “You mean they abducted another kid?”

“You were just a kid - maybe. This is not a child. This is a thing, a vessel for some dark, evil shit.” Matt dragged a hand down his face, but Stick continued, unfazed. “It’s a real weapon.”

“They thought I was a weapon, too,” you huffed, just as Matt voiced his own concerns. 

“Stick, we are not going down to the docks just so you can murder a child.”

“It’s not a child, but fine,” Stick offered begrudgingly. “Whatever. I won’t kill anyone.”

Your brows shot up, not believing him for a second. “Stick.”

Matt seemed to share the same disbelief as he crossed his arms over his chest, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. Stick paused for a second before frowning.

“What, do you want me to swear on my life? God, leave you two alone for a couple years, and all of a sudden, you’ve found some moral high ground,” he hissed. You swore you could see flecks of spit spewing from his mocking, bitter lips. 

“What would you even do in your spare time, apart from acting all high and mighty? Cry in each others’ arms while you slow-motion fuck?”

At that comment, your jaw hit the floor - just as Matt’s seemed to, muttering something under his breath that came off like a go-fuck-yourself. Your hands flew up to cover your face, dragging back through your hair.

“We are not- Jesus, Stick. We’re allies.”

Otherwise totally still, Matt twitched beside you, and Stick paused a moment before scoffing with a scornful, brows-raised smile.

“Whatever you say.”

You glanced at Matt, and he didn’t turn to face you, his focus remaining centered on Stick. A flicker of red dashed up your throat.

Is he annoyed at that?

What the hell was I supposed to say?

What, tell Stick that we ‘don’t want to be friends,’ whatever that even means right now?

It is not the time - and it’s Stick, for fuck’s sake.

Now that was something you never thought you’d be able to say to another person and have them somewhat understand.

“Lot more than leaving for a couple years,” Matt spat at Stick, that red still sharp in his expression, even though it had calmed. “You abandoned me. You-“ he paused, his voice showing the tail-end of a break. “You were practically all I had.”

“And you got your sorry ass up and kept moving forward,” Stick drawled, leaning back to place his empty beer bottle on Matt’s coffee table.

With eyes full of sympathy and sorrowfully parted lips, you turned to face Matt. His nose twitched, jaw clenching, but his expression was otherwise still, crafted of pure, unshakable stone. As Stick turned back to the two of you, his face and voice were entirely indifferent, either unaware of the pain he'd drawn up - or simply not caring.

Odds are, it's the latter.

“Speaking of moving forward, we’d better get out there.”

The night was dark, and it was cold.

You and Stick crouched atop a small building, watching the docks over a short wall as you waited for your targets to approach. A few men, wearing suits and holding rifles, had emerged from the shadows at various points. Matt had insisted on checking the path by which you’d come, just to ensure you wouldn’t be ambushed from behind - make sure that the areas just out of reach by his hearing wouldn’t end up being your downfall. 

Not much else had been said between the three of you - not in Matt’s apartment, not on the way to the shipyard, and not here under the low glow of moonlight. You and Matt hadn’t discussed anything - especially not with Stick still around, ready to offer a tasteless quip at any opportunity. Beside you, Stick’s eyes drifted aimlessly in the darkness, though his pursing, wrinkled lips carried sharp concentration.

As Matt stalked off to check the perimeter, you took a deep, hard breath.

“I’m guessing you know I’ve been trying to find you, huh?”

“Yeah, I knew,” Stick hummed. “Gotta give it to your PI, though. She was one of the better ones I’ve crossed paths with.” 

You pursed your lips, a brief consideration of Jessica’s status crossing through your mind.

Yeah.

Best there was.

“Now that you’ve gotten all that angst off your chest,” Stick continued, “what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

The wind whipped cold over your eyes as you blinked away Stick’s attitude, keeping your voice steady. “That Fisk guy - he’s connected to the Hand. I’m sure of it.”

Stick nodded. “You’re right. Well done.”

Your eyes widened.

“Al- alright,” you breathed, not having expected such a confident confirmation. “So I-“

“Listen, kid.” Stick cut you off with - well. It wasn’t exactly tenderness in his voice, but the sound was lacking the scorn it always seemed to carry. 

“I know you want justice. You’re a lot like Matty, in that respect. You’re committed, and you’ve got the skill and the power to get what you want. But I don’t want to see you go down a path you can’t come back from.”

A flitter in your chest drew up a teasing twist of your lips at that very uncharacteristic admission - which, where Stick was concerned, was basically equivalent to a regular person’s ‘I love you.’ 

“Thought I was just some bitchy little girl.”

Stick sighed, shaking his head.

“If they get their chance - if that Scarface bastard gets his chance - he will take you and use you in ways you can’t even comprehend.”

Damn.

Another ‘I love you?’

Must really be my night.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Stick has a heart,” you purred, teasing and light, before lowering your voice with a shake of your head. “I have to do what I have to do.”

“No,” Stick opposed you, his low rasp sharp and driving. “You have to do what you want to do. And I know I can’t stop you, but I can at least try to talk some sense into you.”

The wind wasn’t too bad on this night, but a few stray breezes here and there made you tug your mask further up your face. You lifted your hands to tie the mask more tightly around your head, shifting your jaw at Stick’s persistence - which was weirdly imbued with a very unusual amount of concern for your well-being.

Maybe getting even more unimaginably old has finally mellowed the guy out.

“If I can find a way to stop them, I might be able to save some kid - maybe many - from what I went through.”

“And you might not,” Stick hissed. “What happens if you don’t?”

“I can try,” you insisted. You focused your gaze on the shipping containers ahead of you, drawing your line of sight over the dips and divots in the metal, keeping your concentration steady so your voice wouldn’t shake. “Is he still - Scarface, is he still-“

“We’ve been able to thwart a lot of his attempts. Fucker’s pretty persistent,” Stick whispered. “But no, there haven’t been any more like you - not that we know of.” Another pause drew up between the two of you, and Stick sighed, running his tongue over his teeth as that white hair ruffled in the wind. “I know a lot about this Black Sky shit - but I don’t know how far he’d go to get you back in their grip. My estimate? Pretty damn far.”

“I’m not the real Black Sky, though. I mean, Scarface was an outlier. He wanted to be right, so he drugged me and beat me into being strong enough and skilled enough to pass - but it was never me.”

“And that’s exactly the risk, if you aren’t the real thing,” Stick pressed. “He will do whatever it takes to be the one to bring the Black Sky to the Hand - whether it’s genuine product or a well-crafted knockoff.”

You shook your head. Stick was a man who wanted what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get what he believed he deserved. You shared a vein of this stubbornness, and ignored his warnings. You couldn’t just give up, but you weren’t about to go back to Stick, fight on his side of this war - not after everything you’d already been through. This was a mission you had to manage on your own.

Yeah, sure, it’s dangerous.

You don’t think I know that already?

“Fisk is an investor in their operations, I’m sure,” you breathed. “If I can get to him, if I can find a way to sever the connection, maybe I can use that to get closer-“

“Wilson Fisk is a whiny little bitch, but he is a vicious one. His claws are too deep into the city for that to be an easy break.”

“Yeah, well, nothing I’ve done in the past has been easy-“

“-But you have never taken down a mobster as dangerous as that motherfucker.”

“Don’t need to take him down,” you hummed, turning your head back toward the shadow of Matt’s quick stalk back to your hiding place. “Just need to fuck him up enough to get what I want.”

Stick scoffed in a near laugh, his voice little more than a spiteful breath.

“Good fuckin’ luck.”