I've said too much
*Flashback - Some time ago*
He’d just finished taking out the room full of HYDRA agents when he heard the heavy footsteps behind him. A strange pitch, a mix between whining and whirring, as the steps moved past him and down the corridor. It was weird, not working alone. He could hear Stark’s voice through the comms devices the rest of the team were wearing, giving Romanoff information about heat signatures ahead of her. One of the bodies on the ground stirred and Matt punched the agent square in the face and listened for movement. Satisfied with the stillness, the unconscious thrum of seven heartbeats, the in and out of steady breathing, he set off to where the whining noise had headed.
Once he’d gone through the plastic sheets and dented metal doors he wished he’d left this job to the Avengers. A sickening mix of chemicals, blood, machine oil, and bleach hit him all at once, making his gut churn. Something at one end of the room let off bursts of steam at uneven intervals. Bucky said something through his comms, but Matt was so overloaded he couldn’t make any of it out. He took a moment, breathing in as deep as he could without choking, gradually desensitizing himself to the vile assault on his senses.
A hand slapped his shoulder. He grabbed at it, pulling it over himself, turning slightly as the person clattered to the floor below him.
“Hey, hey we’re the good guys!” Clint’s voice squeaked, “Ouch.” He let go, taking a small step back.
“Sorry,” he said. His nerves felt like they were on fire but the air was getting easier to breathe. As it did, he started to notice something very wrong with the space he was in.
Firstly, it was relatively bare. The only door he could sense was the one they’d entered from, and the walls were thick enough that he couldn’t have heard through them, no matter how hard he tried. Second, there was a stupid amount of noise. It bounced off the floor and the ceiling, each about ten feet apart from the other, a constant droning, grinding of gears or some sort of interlocking metal. But the source of the noise wasn’t there. There was no heat from any machines in the space, other than those on the edge of the room, the ones next to - cages. That was the third thing very wrong with the space, there were cages lined up along one wall of the room. He zoned his hearing into the ones closest to him, one unconscious heartbeat, a large cold mass next to it. He moved along, cage by cage, listening as he went. There were two more unconscious heartbeats, but eight cages in total. Ten cold masses. This was now a place he very much did not want to be.
More footsteps behind him, one set heavy, one set so light he had to strain to hear it, distracting him from the thoughts currently consuming his mind.
“Der’mo,” a whisper of Russian - Natasha. The heavier steps - the Captain’s - approached Bucky, who hadn’t moved from his spot since Matt had entered the room.
“Someone should tell Stark he isn’t here,” Clint said, sighing when Romanoff’s footsteps made their way back to the door, stopping before the sound of crunching metal added to the impossible droning.
“Are there-” Matt started, unsure how to word his question, “How many people are there?” he asked, pointing to the cage-lined wall. Clint shuffled back, between Matt and Natasha, before replying.
“There’s- there’s at least two in each-” The silence that followed hung over the room, a guillotine braced over their conversation. This was not something he was prepared for. All he wanted was to find the root to where the missing people in Hell's Kitchen had disappeared to. A favour for Jessica that he was more than happy to carry out but now… This was miles away from an answer. If anything, it sparked more questions. Questions he was more than happy to ignore, leave it to the real heroes, and escape back to the comfort of his far from normal life.
***
Jessica's words made sense. They always did. He wasn’t sure if it was the cynicism or the whiskey but she never softened the punch of her words. She told him the truth. Unfortunately, the truth was rarely happy.
“I don’t know what these HYDRA fuckers think they’re doing but it’s not pretty. This is beyond you or me. This is Avengers-level shit.” She took another swig from the bottle she’d commandeered, singing further back into his worn couch. Matt took a second, still trying to comprehend what she’d said.
“Are you sure it’s HYDRA? It’s not… something else?”
“You’re starting to insult me, Murdock,” Jessica sighed. She was being uncharacteristically quiet, it was unsettling. If her heart wasn’t steady he’d have thought she was nervous.
“So what, I hand this over to Stark?” he asked, pointing at the offending item that sat on his coffee table. Jessica sighed again, as though he was missing something obvious.
“You pass this shit up to whoever will take it. Then you forget about it.” He could feel the emotion roll off her but couldn’t tell if it was anger or frustration. He assumed it was the latter.
He got up, standing over the bag. The taste wasn’t as strong as it used to be, and the smell had changed as the blood dried. Jessica was right, this was beyond him. This wasn’t something he could solve by punching people. He couldn’t pretend with Karen and Foggy if he was taking out an ongoing Hydra operation single-handedly. He thought he hid his midnight fights pretty well but this would be taking it too far. He was halfway to his kitchen, his head full of possibilities and questions when he heard footsteps pacing outside his building. Matt stopped, listening attentively. The steps continued in the same spot before moving off down the street. He heard them move round the block, steady but continuous, only to return to the front of the building.
Jessica noticed him, stock still in the threshold of his kitchen, head tilted slightly. She’d fought alongside him enough to know what that meant.
“What is it?” She asked. He didn’t move, his feet planted to their spot on the floor. She finished the bottle with one final swig before standing up.
“Steps outside. They’re waiting,” he said before walking over to the chest, hauling the red suit out, and carrying it into his bedroom. The sound of hangars clattering and fabric shuffling emanating from the doorway.
Jess walked over to the window, the light from the billboard made it difficult to see the street properly. Things looked normal, other than a van parked on the street opposite.
“How’s the electricity round here?” she asked. Matt stepped out of his room, a full-looking duffel bag in one hand.
“If there were issues that billboard wouldn’t be working,” he said. That’s worrying, Jess thought. She stepped into his kitchen, grabbing a fresh bottle of whiskey before walking back towards the couch.
“Those steps still there?” She asked. Matt nodded, then stopped, tilting his head a few times. Shit.
Before she could ask her next question Matt had grabbed the bag from the table, wrapping it fully in the trash bag, before walking to the back of his apartment. Jessica followed, grabbing her bag from the side of the couch. Matt opened a door and headed up a flight of stairs. Jessica followed. The two made their way to the roof, the cold night air greeting them.
“He’s on the second floor,” Matt said, “I’m gonna get this to someone more qualified.” He held up the trash bag. Jess nodded before remembering.
“Okay, don’t get involved,” she warned, but he was already running over the roof, leaping to the next building.
“Fucking ninjas,” she muttered before stepping off the side of the roof and landing on the sidewalk below with a crunch.