If I could begin to do something that does right by you (I would do about anything)

Frank's knees started making sound when he was ten. It was odd how many of his old wounds and broken bones he couldn’t trace back but this one, this one, he remembered. It was the first time a kid around his block called him ‘ pretty boy', it was snarky and outta place and he knew exactly what they meant. So he swung. His fist collided against the boy’s face and the kid's older brother kicked him straight on the ribs. Like a dog you beat up for snapping at a neighbor. He landed on his knees, the right one getting all but impaladed with a can of beer that was rolling down the gutter. He screamed bloody murded and all the boys scramble away, running from Frank’s father who pushed the door open just in time to see Frank yanking the can out of his skin, getting back on his feet and running behind the kid. A trail of blood behind him. 

Later on his dad would tell him just how proud he was of him. 

One night, many years later, Frank would retell the story to Billy and add I was runnin away from him. Didn’t want him to know what they said to me and Billy would whistle under his breath. He got it. He had been called worse. But Frank, Frank got rough, he got big and he broke every bone where a solid punch could land. Nobody would look twice at Frank Castle and call him a pretty boy. 

When he laid eyes on Matt Murdock, for the very first time, his brain laid it out for him; that’s a pretty boy. But Matthew was rough  too. He was adorn in fancy suits and fine looking glasses but Frank could see past that, could catch the sharp edge of the blade, the rustiness on top of it, ready to slash and poison. Matt Murdock wanted to display a certain image, a pretty boy, a blind lawyer, a kind citizen. In his own way he was all of those things. He was often covered in bruises too. No match to Frank’s nose, broke so many times he lost track, but enough to show he was barely any of the things he proclaimed to be. Frank felt a weird warm care from Matt, not because of the crafted picture of solidarity and the cane he so clearly didn’t need, but for the bruises. The slashes that were self-inflicted even if they weren’t. Frank saw Matt and his brain laid it out for him; he’s like me. 

Then, when he met Red, he snicker, at how fucking smug and entilted the piece of shit was if he truly believed Frank was stupid enough not to ad two plus two. Like those damn glasses and his blindness could change his voice or more than that his blasted personality. He cares for Red, too, so he beats some sense into him whenever the chance allows it. He would’ve done the same for Matthew if he had been allowed. But as things stand, the devil was sure he was slik. Frank had a hard time not laughing whenever Matt would speak about Daredevil. He wasn’t sure how much the man grasped, but wondered if he could feel Frank rolling his eyes or clicking his jaw. Fuckin Murdock, he would think whenever he found Red torned apart in some alley. But when he called for him, hooking an arm around his waist he would say red and only red. 

He was fine with pretending. 

Whatever suits Murdock. 

If he wanted to think Frank was a dumbass that was on him. 

Until Frank fuck up.

It was after the snap. 

The snap he survived, because Frank Castle sure knew how to do that, like a damn roach that couldn’t simply disappear. There was nothing to shoot at when the world dissolved around him, people turning into ashes as he watched it, clenching his fist and praying to a god he didn’t believe in to please, please, take him. God never liked him that much. He made a mental list and tracked down his people. Curtis answer the phone with a hollow tone that let him know life had fuck him one too many times. His girl had disappeared right under his hands, Frank stuttered, pressing the burning phone against his forehead and clenching his teeth before asking “You need me there?”
“I gotta see my mother.” Curtis' voice was tight. “Be safe, Frank.”

“You too.” 

Amy called him. They talked and she didn’t cry but Frank did, heavy tears he dry with too much force. “Call me. For anything.” He grumbled before throwing the phone in the back of the van. 

Because Micro was not answering. So, instead, he drives. He arrived at an empty house. Everything frozen in time, the tv playing, the oven on and a recently made pie uncook on the counter. He turns the oven off. Tries to call  Sarah. Dead end. He spends a whole day trying to locate the kids. When he finally gives up it is over a week into madness. It was better this way, he guessed, for all of them to go together. 

Karen didn’t call. 

That was enough to know.

He thinks of Matt, of course he does. He doesn’t search for him, tho. Doesn’t even dream of going there. The idea of tracking Murdock to find that shitty cane lying on the floor makes his stomach turn and twist and he prefers to live without any certainty. Matt was nobody to him. The thing about them pretty boys was that they were handy. Everyone masc until the bombs start tickin , the girls around the corner of Queens used to tell him, when he play aloof as they whistled at him. After a while he started smiling at them, nodding and punching if they pointed at anyone in particular. They liked him. Big guy, they called him. He remembers them and wonders if they survived, not the snap but life itself. After the blip, life seemed even more damp in blood. It was hard not to recall faces and question whether he should make a trip and check upon them. When he tries to sleep at night he always thinks of Matt. Like an intrusive thought he can’t quite shake. Sometimes he gets ready to go out. To look for him. He never does.

Instead he drinks and gets another construction job. 

He works until his hands are bloody and drags his feet to the raggest bar he could find. Josie’s. The woman in question barely gives him two cents of attention, keeping his glass filled and nodding his way whenever he arrives. That was it. Never talked with strangers and rejected anyone who tried their luck. Not that it happens often. He wasn’t a pretty boy no more afterall, rough road, maybe. Not approachable. Nobody whistles anymore. 

Until Matt showed up. 

He had already lost count of how many drinks he pushed down, the whiskey rasping his throat and dulling his senses but not enough not to look when the door jiggled. The cold air of December ventured into the bar as doors let specks of snow travel inside, swirling around Matt’s feet, his head tilted, auburn hair crowned by the fluorescent red lights of the bar. A blood-red halo glooming around his tiny smirk. The man stops as soon as his senses catch the chaos inside of the bar. A halt so brusque the woman behind him frowns, her hand to Matt’s shoulder. You good? Frank sees her mouthing. He doesn’t wait for Matt to reply. Instead he turns his head around and tries to control the racing beats of his heart. So, Matt is alive. Good for him. Frank tries to stand up but can’t. His body frozen in place, relief making his head hazy, blurry. He turns in time to see Murdock’s company. Two men, one woman. A blonde white guy wearing something that is honestly ridiculous, a big guy that looks made of steel, and the woman looking shaky, moving like someone who doesn’t want to be seen. 

Matt still looks taken aback. Frank knows he senses him. And apparently this startled him enough to stop on his tracks. Like he expected Castle of all people to be gone with the wind. He had buried The Punisher after the blip, afterall it was his best chance to disappear. He never guessed Matt believed it. If he was, at that, alive. It’s glaringly clear that Murdock counted him as gone. 

They sit in one of the booths and Frank rearranges, feeling their gazes burning against his skull. He’s too drunk to fight all of them and win. The whiskey burns as he hurries to push it down, pulling a couple of bills and lading them on the table, nodding at Josie as he walks in a steady strand towards the door. 

He knows it ain’t gonna work. 

Matt allows him the delusion he’s about to go free of charges for a solid minute, letting him walk out the place and into the street before the bell of the bar jingles once more. 

“Frank!” 

He doesn’t stop. 

He also doesn’t run. 

He keeps his steady walk and listens carefully as Red jogs, his cane tapping against the floor. Playing pretend still. “Castle!” He wants to turn around and snap at him but instead he stops. Sighing and watching infuriated as Red comes to halt, knocking against his back. Also rehearsed. 

“Frank?” Red asks and maybe it is the booze but Frank swears there's something sweet there. Something hopeful. Like Red gives two shits and is happy to see him. 

“Murdock.” He greets. 

“My colleagues thought they saw you… I--” Matt darted his tongue out- Frank half expected to see it cut it two, the devil hissing, instead it was red and tentative, coating his lips with a fine shimmery wetness. “I thought you were dead.” 

“Frank Castle is.”  He says, low. 

“Is he?” Matt wonders and here it comes, the catholic bullshit and the rolling punches like the biblical nuance he was. 

“Yeah, Red, he is, now go back to your friends before they worry I killed you.” It comes out on it’s own volition. Frank is completely unaware of his own words until Matt's demeanor changes. Be gone pretty boy and lawful lawyer. Hello Daredevil. It’s almost imperceptible for anyone other than Frank, trained in the sweet art of encouraging Matt’s Murdock bullshit, and therefore catching with too much sharpness the way in which his head tilts, and face drows into shadows. Frank stutters then, and says, almost under his breath. “Aw, shit.”

“What did you just call me?” Matt's voice is righteous now. 

“Go back to your friends, Murdock.” He repeats, softer. “We don’t have to do this.” 

“Castle.” Red, the stubborn asshole, won’t let go, going as far as grabbing him by the arm. “I was worried.”

“Of what?” He grumbles, finally locking his eyes in Red’s face. “Me not killing people? Or beating your ass? Or is the business going slow? Need a big case, Red?”

Matt’s face turned sour. “I was worried about you.” 

And it sucks. Sucks right to the core because Frank had been worried too. Sick in alcohol and sweat and worry. He asks, because he has to. “Karen?” Red shakes his head. And Frank puffs out a breath, pain coiling around his ribs. “What about your partner? Nelson?” Matt doesn’t move this time. Frank recognizes that kind of pain. The glasses slid a little down his nose and Frank fixes them because he can't wash away the pain with punches, not when Red is wearing this particular suit, so he just fixes his glasses and hopes Red gets it. Palming Red face afterwards, it was the kind of fraternal love he rarely gave out nowadays. “M’sorry kid.”

“Me too.” Matt whispers. “Do you need anything?” 

It is such a broad question. Frank chuckles, clearing his throat before repeating himself one last time. “Go back to your friends, red.” 

*

There’s a sighting of Daredevil for the first time after the blip. People only mourn for so long before they go back to their old bullshit. So much for union and love. Frank reads the news and listens to boys at the construction talk about it. 

“One of these days someone is gonna put a bullet in his head.” One of them says, chuckling. Tayler, Frank thinks is his name. 

“Es un buen tipo.” Chims in one of the younger kids, Dani, chewing on his food. “Lo vieron alguna vez? Es una demencia lo que hace el loco.”

“Some ninja crap.” Tayler says with a grin. “Has nothing against a couple of drop clips.” 

The other kid snaps his tongue. “Callate gato, you know how hard he goes? You really think que lo van a bajar con un fierro? Nah, my boy is hard to put down.” 

Frank just watches them without putting in any opinion. They all treat him like he’s slow. He doesn’t mind. Prefers it, even.

“Yeah, he helped my sister last week. No es ningún cagón el diablo.” Says Judd, he’s even more rough looking than Frank and he respects that. “¿Qué opinas, Fracisco?” 

They call him Francisco for the pope. He does not appreciate the title. “Devil does what the devil does.” He replies, crass. 

“Meaning?” Tayler asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Meaning I don’t give a shit.” 

But he does. So when he goes home to his apartment, his low cost, huge apartment, given that the market went down like the Titanic, he perches in the window and listens carefully to the police radio. Explosions. He waits, until things sound the right tone of biblical and then he jumps out and into the firescape. 

He finds Red bleeding and holding himself against an alleyway. “Need a hand there?” But Red doesn’t turn and Frank halts. Wyry. He walks slowly, his hand reaching out. “Red?” Nothing. Just Matt’s face down and he breathing way too loud, grabbing his side, his teeth chattering in the cold of winter. Frank knows better than to do so, but he still lays a hand on the man’s shoulder getting elbow in the face so hard it makes him see white for a moment. The taste of blood clouds his mind for a second as he reaches for Matt. “Red, goddammit, ‘s me, moron!” Matt instead kicks him right in between the ribs, showing teeth like a rabid dog. Frank has a second to be confused and disoriented before holding Murdock closer to him, trapping his wrist as he chokes without air, pulling his hand towards his throat. “Red, ‘s Frank. It’s me, come on.”

 Red stammers then. His lips temblings. “Frank?”

“Yes.” He says, his voice raspy, pulling Matt’s hand lower, to his chest. Red told him once he could recognize his heartbeat. “See?” 

“No I don’t” Matt grumbled making himself small. He’s talking too loud. “I don’t hear either.” 

Frank snorts, the little shit couldn’t help himself to be snarky bastard even when he was quite literally immobilized. “Ok. You feel me?”

“That sounds wrong, Frank.”

“I’m gonna leave you here.” Frank groans, taking off his coat and pulling around Matt, holding the hand to his throat. Guessing Matt’s senses could translate. “Take off the mask.”

Matt hesitates, but finally complais. He’s wearing his black pijamas instead of the red suit, they could easily blend in even with Murdock black eye and bloody lip. Frank takes the mask off his hands and cleans the blood on his lower lip and his ears, pulling Matt’s hand to his throat. “Gonna take you somewhere safe, kay?”

Matt nods, letting Frank carry him away into the streets, lowering his hand so it stays on his chest. For anyone else they could look like a couple coming back from a rough night out. Nobody would care enough to wonder the fuck happen to them. 

Takes them a hot second to get there, he spends half of time glaring at people that crashed against Red without a second thought. “Watch it” A guy says after almost knocking Red back and Frank turns around and growls. “Say that again?” Sending the guy hurrying away from them.

“Stop fighting with people.” Matt groans, his fist closing around Frank's sweater. 

“Fucker talked shit.”

“Don’t talk shit back, then.”

Frank cursed as he tried to open the door of his building, struggling with the jam door and then almost tripping over the barricade of twenty year olds that were going out. “Hey Pete!” Says the kid that lived next door to him. He had fixed something for the kid and her roommates a couple of times and now they treated like he was the nicest guy in all of New York. He almost moved. But people were like this all around. The blip had brought some friendliness Frank preferred dead.  “Oh, hey! I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!”

“Yeah, nice to see you, kid.” He groaned, pulling Matt closer to him. Murdock smiled, nodding, eyes disoriented. He pushed past the kids, pushing Matt towards the stairs, guessing the elevator would be worse for his remaining senses. Frank fuckin aparment was on the tenth floor. 

He all but kicked the door open. Seating Red on the couch and kneeling in front of him. The cold fingers brushing against his skin. “How long is this gonna last?”

“Not much.” Matt said, shaking his head. 

“What do you need?”
Murdock pierced his lips, “Nothing. It’s bad but it’s--It’s gonna heal.” 

“You sure?”

Matt shrugged.

Fucking christ. “Want me to call someone?”
“Just… I just need to sleep it off.” Matt says, voice breaking in the middle.

“Let me stitch you up first”

Frank moves away then, coming back with a wet rag to clean the blood properly, stitching the gashes at Matt’s side. It is routine work. Neither of them talks and Matt’s finally stops shaking. The kid chews on the painkillers and Frank winces, forcing him to drink so damn water. When it is all done he comes back with a pillow and the softest blanket he could find, throwing them on top of Red. He catches them and nods. Frank takes a moment to watch him, it’s the first time he’s seen him without the glasses or the mask and it feels intimate somehow. Turns out Red eyes are damn beautiful. He’s about to turn around and lock himself in his room when Red frowns. “Frank?”

He considers leaving him. But ends up walking towards him either way, once again kneeling in front of Red, like praying or asking for penitent. It's ridiculous. He should’ve left his dumbass bleeding out in that alleyway. He touches Red’s hand tentatively, pulling it towards his mouth, “What?” 

Matt's eyes wrinkle around a smile. “The throat works fine.” He says but doesn’t move his hand. “I don’t want to ask this but---” 

“Yeah, Red.” Frank replies, knowingly. “But give me the pillow at least.” 

Matt narrows his eyes but obeys, finally settling on the couch. Frank watches over him while laying on the floor. He wonders how Red managed other times- because there were certainly other times- when he lost his hearing and he could only stumble to some corner. Other times where nobody watched over him. 

He wakes up and Red is gone. A cup of fresh coffee waiting for him. He chuckles and drinks it while staring at the tidy folded blanket on top of his couch. And for the first time in months something eases inside of him. 

*

They don’t see each other for a while. Frank keeps an ear out for trouble but Red been playing nice lately. Only minor leagues. It’s a relief, all things considered. It doesn’t last long, of course. 

Frank has been playing nice. So, on a regular Thursday night he’s just watching TV when he hears them down the corridor. He stands up slowly, reaching for the gun under the coffee table, taking the safety off and walking around his furniture, gun in his line of sight. 

“Castle!” A woman screams from the other side, knocking on his door without a single shred of neighborly decency. “Open the damn door!” 

“He’s not gonna open.” Says a second voice, a man. “We got your boy bleeding pretty badly!”

“Why do you two make everything sound like a threat?” Says a third voice. “Castle, we are friends of the devil, don’t shoot.”

“You are literally bullet proof.” Says the first man.

“Danny shut the fuck up, man.” 

By now Castle had lowered his gun, watching in nothing but annoyance as his door was blown open with a kick. “I was gonna open.” He grumbles as the three folks from the bar barge in, carrying Red’s uncounse body. They drop him carefully on the couch. “What happened to him?”

“Not us.” Quickly says the blonde guy. Danny. 

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Got knocked down bad.”

“I see that.” Frank gritts, dryly. “Why is that my problem?”
“He’s okay but he’s not waking up. We didn’t know where else to take him,” The other guy explains. Crossing his arms. 

“I’m not a doctor.” Castle groans. They all just just watch him and he ends up snapping his tongue, pushing past the blonde guy to kneel next to Red. He’s wearing his red suit again, which means horns. Frank always hated those damn horns. He takes the mask off without much thought, holding his face carefully to check on his ears. There 's no blood. There is, however, a big bruise on his left eye and Frank thumbs over it, fixing his hair that’s still sweaty from the mask. “Jesus Christ, Red.” 

“He should be fine.” Danny says tightly. 

“He 's tough.” Frank agrees, his fingers still fixed on Red’s hair. “A small miracle he’s not bleeding all around.” 

The woman snorted, “You should get a plastic cover for the couch.”

“Probably.” Frank says. Rubbing his face. “And who the hell are you?”

*

They finally leave them alone. Neither of them seem too eager to see Red’s reaction to the trio choosing to bring his unconscious  body to Castle's apartment. “Tell him to call.” Jessica asks before clumsily putting the door back into place. 

Matt vitals were good and soon enough he came back with a sharp breath and scrambling around. It took him a second, maybe less, to calm down, looking around with scold and pout. “Frank?”
“Your buddies drop you here.” 

“Why?”

“The hell if I know, Red.” Frank grins, bringing Matt the pasta he's been cooking while he was out. “You hungry?”
“You made dinner?” 

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Kick my ass to the curb.” Matt reason, wincing, still out of it. “Do you have--”

“Here.” Frank grunts, putting the painkiller in Matt’s hand. “Jones asked me to let her know when you came back to the land of the living.”

“Thanks.” He chews the pills, like asking for a glass of water is gonna kill him. 

“For fuck sake,” Castle’s shoves a water bottle in his hand. “Drink.” 

Matt drinks the whole thing in one go, leaning back against the couch and breathing heavily. Frank eats next to him, the second plate untouched as the devil groans a little, pain fresh. When he tries to move he whines. “You took my mask off.”

“They already knew.” Castle simply replies. “Want some clothes?”

Red tilts his head then, listening and considering. Frank wonders what exactly he’s trying to search. Eventually he edges towards the end of the couch and grabs the fork. “Yeah, actually.” 

Castle narrows his eyes, standing up and finding a pair of sweats, a shirt that was definitely too big on Red and, as he smirks, a Punisher hoodie Micro gifted him as a joke- he's been trying to get rid of it anyways. 

“Here.” 

Matt nods, but it’s otherwise too busy devouring the meal. Frank can’t help but feel something ridiculously close to endearment to see Red so concentrated on the food, the corner of his mouth a bit stained with red sauce.  “You are a good cook.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I wouldn’t pin you as a good cook.” 

“Can’t you just eat your food and say thank you?”
“I said thank you.” Red smirks around the word. “And I’m eating my food.” 

Frank just grunted in response. “You can crash on the couch.” He picks his used dish and cleans it, grabbing another water bottle from the fridge and leaving it next to Red. The blanket he used last time he stayed over is still draped over the couch and Frank just tugs at it a little bit.  He’s about to go into his room when Red clears his throat. “Frank.” He turns, feeling a sort of deja vu from that first night and wondering if Red was gonna ask him to stay. Something heavy and dark coils into his stomach. “Thank you. I know you don’t have to do this. So. Yeah.” 

“Don’t mention it, Red.” 

*

Frank didn’t believe in god. Frank’s mother, however, did. When he was little she would spend her weekends at church, organizing bible studies for the younger kids and singing at the Sunday mass. 

That landed Frank a lot of time in the local church, running around the closed doors, heavy stone floor, cold and hard, muffling his steps as he snooped around, reading in corners and taking advantage of the breeze weather of the place in the cruel heat of Queens. He wouldn’t admit it, but those were better memories than spending late afternoon with the other kids in the neighborhood. He had always been more of a loner. It was hard to find that sort of quiet calm in other places, matter of fact, Frank wasn’t sure he ever felt that sort of radical peace, that thick silence that cover him as he smirk his way around the place, like he damn own it, looking up to eye the crucified Jesus Christ and thinking how hard could it for him to climb to the top of the cross. He never tried, because back then he still had some sort of respect for God and as such he didn’t pull nasty shit like that. 

Nowadays however, things are different. 

From one; he doesn’t appreciate silence all that much. 

He walks inside the church and wets his fingers in the holy water, drawing a cross in his forehead like his mama used to do, for her, not him. He mumbles an Ave Maria and looks up into the sculpted eyes of  a bloody and crucify Jesus Christ and chuckles. The hell did he wanted to climb that shit for? He could, he gathers, tho it would look just plane dumb. 

It takes him less than a second to find Red. 

He wasn’t looking for the man, but in retrospect, it makes sense. It warms his chest, for some incoherent reason. Red looks damn pretty under the dim light of the church and Frank’s enjoys the thought, still a little petty towards the catholic shame his parents nurture him in. His mama wouldn’t be so proud of how much Frank's eyes soften at the sight of Red, on his knees, head tilted as he prays. Pretty, pretty boy, down on your knees you go, he thinks without reason. It takes a moment for him to remember what the fuck he walked inside the church for in the first place. Petiens. Or something of the sort. Anything, really, that could feel a fraction like that blasted peace he had when he was little. Tho, he knows, without a doubt, that’s impossible with what lives cozily in his head.  There are a couple sitting near the front, old as dust. Frank barely clocks them before turning his eyes back to Matt Murdock who's sitting patiently, now. Waiting. 

“The devil you know,” He grumbles as he sits next to Matt, smirking a little, because he can also be a little bitch from now and then. “Praying for my salvation, Red?”

Matt tilts his head and licks his lower lip, Frank is still disappointed his tongue is not cut in two. “You know the drill, Frank. Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” 

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective,” Frank agrees, smiling slowly. “Or so they say. You sure as hell righteous.” 

“Come on, Frank, don’t curse at church.”

“Hell ain’t a curse. Fuck. Shit. That 's curse.” 

Red snorts and kicks him on the shin. “Dickhead.” 

“Ei! No cursing at church, Murdock.”

“Never pin you for the catholic sort.” 

“You don’t pin me as much, apparently.” Frank says slowly. 

“I do. Just not--”

“Altar boy?” Castles wonders, his eyes finding the altar in question, grinning. “You should've seen me with the wine and the bells, Red.”

“Heard more likely.” The devil retorts, evenly but smiling despite his best efforts. “Do I have to lawyer my way into a straight answer?”

“You know, my mama used to say that unless hell was full no lawyer would be saved.” Franks musses, low enough for just the two of them. 

“Are you cracking lawyer jokes now?”
“You brought it up first.” Frank argues, his arm going around the bench and resting near Matt’s back. He wets his own lips, looking down at Matt, pretty rough, pretty rough boy. “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. Is that what you do, Red? Turn your wicked ways? Come here after you got your knuckles bloody enough and hope the big guy forgives you for your sins? Heal hell kitchen from the hell house that it is?”

“What about you?” The devil replies, the glasses catching light and shining like a gleam. “Are you here to humble yourself?”
“Not to god, no.”

“To who, then?”

Frank doesn’t reply to that one. Breathing softly. Neither of them speak for a long while. “Myself.” Eventually Frank lets out. “I used to be capable of spending time with myself. Not so much now.” 

“Silence can be damning.”

“Company more so.” Frank retorts and wishes he hadn't.

“Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through it.” Red supplies with a grin. “I won’t pull you through it if you don’t offer your hand, Frank.” 

Frank chuckles at that “Wanna hold hands now, Red?” 

Matt looks shy at that, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth “I would trust you with mine, you know?”

“Your hand?” Frank snorts.

“My damnation.” 

Frank isn’t sure how to breathe for a moment, which sucks when you are sitting next to a guy who can probably hear the arrhythmia that won’t pop in another five years. His heart, the fucking thing, beats like the one of a damn mice and he swears Red’s smirk grows wider. Frank hates the damn bastard, he rearranges in the bench, bending his knees, the right one making awful noise. Matt winces at that.  “I think you already handle that.”

“Maybe.” 

“Heaven is probably still wiping from losing such an angel.” Frank mocks, nudging Matt’s feet with his. 

“Comparing me to angels now?”

“So it seems.”

“They do say Lucifer was the most beautiful.” Red grins and Frank laughs, throwing his head back. The old lady shushed him.

“Smug bastard.” He hits Red on the arm. “And how the hell do you know if you are pretty anyways? You can see for shit.”

Matt blurts out his own laugh. “I been told so before.”

“Oh, Save me, Lord, from lying lips and from deceitful tongues.” The low grumble of Frank’s voice shakes with the laughter buckling in the bottom of his stomach. “Liars, Red, they’all just sweet talk.”

“First you call me an angel and then uggly.” Red says, genuinely offended. And then adds, with a sense of righteousness. “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.”

“Matthew 5:11” Frank catches him. “Kinda cheesy, don’t you think?”

“You gotta be thankful I’m not pulling the ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother,’ and ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ That Matthew is more for you.” 

“Never been big on adultery.” Frank says back, teasing. 

“Big on the false testimony, tho.”

“Big on the murder.” Frank quips in and then frowns. “What do you mean false testimony?”

“You saying I ain’t pretty.” 

“You know, Red, vainglory is a deadly sin.” He says deadpan and Red snorts. 

“I am the devil afterall.” Red bites on his lower lip. “What’s your excuse?”

Frank just shrugs, clearing his throat. He’s running out of bible verses. “Kay’ pretty boy, you got me. Persecute me or damn me. Your choice. I’ll go willingly.” 

At that, Matt flushes like Frank has never seen before. He was probably not waiting for Castle to give in. It’s a nice feeling, seeing Matt literally red like that. Frank realizes, a little disappointed, that Murdock doesn’t get enough compliments to let this one slide. Or maybe, it’s that it comes from him. Either way he composes rather quickly. “Right now the only place I want to go is Josie’s.”

“Lead the way.” 

Frank hates when people push their luck around him. Frank also hates that this seems to happen so fucking often. They are just talking, their head maybe a little too close and their voices quieter than most people at noisy bars but to be fair they are chatting about murder and the devil so, you go figure. It's real nice, Frank noticed, a little bewildered. Talking with Red had never been his preferred form to get a headache, he was more inclined to get hit in the head or chug down too much wine in one sitting like a good Italian American. But there's something deliriously soothing about whispering head to head with Red. In all honesty; they get fucking plaster. At some point Frank hunches in the bar, ignoring the pointed glare Josie is giving him and tells Red about this old song his nana used to sing before toasting in Christmas or New Years.  

"Nah Red, you don't get it, she would sing like nobody else," he groans and it's a bit too husky maybe, more so when his lips are brushing a little against Red's ear. 

Red laughs, throwing his head back "You do know my family is Irish, right? I know all about old drinking songs."

"Nah, Red, not like this one." 

And Red, the little shit, grins and turns his head so he can whisper in Frank's ear "Show me."

So, Frank, starts fucking signing.  "Alla salute dei nostri amici, facciamo brindisi facciamo brindisi, alla salute dei nostri amici, facciamo brindisi--" 

Red snorts before he starts laughing so hard he stumbles and almost falls out of his stool. Frank snaps his tongue and groans, scoffing as he puts an arm around Matt, keeping him place "That ain't a song. That 'sa toast."

"Shut up, Red and come on, little shit. Show me yours." 

Red nods, leaning closer to Frank until his mouth lingers against his ear " What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning! Way hay and up she rises. Way hay and up she rises. Way hay and up she rises. Early in the morning! Shave his belly with a rusty razor. Shave his belly with a rusty razor---"

Frank laughs harder than he had in years and Matt ends up choking too, punching him real good on the shoulder. He needs to dry the tears on his eyes, pressing his forehead against Matt's shoulder "Jesus Christ, Red." Is not the song as much as the tone and the damn speed in which Matt blurted it out. It cracks Frank in two and he feels his chest warm and hazy from it. 

They fall into an easy silence and Frank can't shake the sense of peace that takes over him. He may have been searching for that when he walked into the church. Of course it is interrupted. Because Frank and peace are concepts not welcome to go together. 

So, a dude stumbles to Red side and clears his throat loud enough for the entire bar to take notice. Red waits it out, raising an eyebrow at Frank's direction. The punisher just snorts, drinking his beer and pretending not to notice. The guy clears his throat again. 

"Hey," he says then.

Matt turns around and flashes his prettiest lawyer smirk "Hello?" 

Frank knew the type. The kind of guy who saw two dudes together and tousled his luck around until one or the other landed a punch. It's an adrenaline driven bull shit that Frank wasn't all that familiar when it involved him and another man. He remembered it from before the war, when he would go out with Maria and some random suit and tie smiled and fluttered his eyelashes until Maria snorted at him or Frank showed up with his broken nose and dead glare. He fucking hated guys like this. Because he and Red may not be together but they could be. They probably look like they were, matter of fact. Heads a little too close and laughing a notch too much. Frank's hand traveling from back to shoulders mindlessly. 

"Anthony Merk." The guy says offering a hand. 

"Matt Murdock." Red says, not taking the hand, Frank grinned against the rim of his beer as he watches Anthony realize how stupid what he just did is. "Do I know you, Anthony?" 

"Not yet, you don't." 

Frank chuckles at that, sharing a look with Josie who just rolls her eyes "Anthony stop bothering this poor guy." 

"Bothering? I'm not bothering him. Am I bothering you Matt?" 

Frank pushed his tongue against his front teeth trying not to openly laugh at the drunk. 

"First warning: I'm not gonna stop it when Rambo here punches you back into sobriety."  Josie added. Giving Frank a concealed look. Like she rather liked the idea of him turning the bastard into pulp.  

Frank finally gave him a proper look. He was wearing a suit, cheaper looking than Red's but still somewhat fancy, blue tie and pinkish shirt, well joined by a fake Rolex in his wrist and the remains of white dust on the tip of his nose. He was thirty going thirty-five, blonde hair thinning and brown eyes glinting with something dangerous. High out of his head. Probably an accountant. Boring. Nothing Frank would bother about. The biggest crime he committed was probably the grams of coke that were waiting for him in the inside of his suit jacket. Handsome but nowhere near Matt's league. Frank licks his lips and turns away. 

"What? Nah, no way, Rambo, bud, what's your name?" 

Frank gives him a blank stare and answers equally as evenly. "Pete."

"Pete!" There's some light teasing in his voice and Frank knows if Matt was actually his partner he would be fuming by now. "Petey, my man, this you boy?" 

He puts a hand on Matt's shoulder, harshly. Frank doesn't like it one bit. "He's my lawyer." 

"Oh! So this is not pleasure. Just business." Anthony quickly quips in. 

"You think people come to a place like this to do business?" Frank snaps back and then adds, looking at Josie, "No offense."

"None taken." Her voice is amused if not entertaining. 

"Well then, it's somewhat pleasure?" The guy sniffs and cleans his nose, missing the white dust by some miracle. 

"It's drinking a beer." Frank grumbles, taking a sip to demonstrate. 

Anthony has already lost interest in him, looking back at Matt "I never met such a quiet lawyer."

For a second Frank is actually tempted to laugh his ass off. Red was many things, quiet not being one of those. Instead he growls. "Take a hint." 

"I'm really not that quiet." Matt says over him, sending Frank a side glance, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. 

"Bet so." Anthony mumbles, his words a little slurred. "I'm sure I can't make you quite talkative." 

Matt quirks an eyebrow at that. Surprise and yet not interested. "Maybe." He humors but it comes out flat. "But right now I'm kinda busy with my client." 

"Oh come on, pretty." Anthony slurs and his hand slides down from his shoulder to his lower back. 

Frank looks at his hand and grins "You wanna put that in your pocket if you want to take it home with ya'" 

" Matt doesn't seem uncomfortable." 

"If you are thinking blood take it outside." Josie says to Frank and he just nods. 

"No need for that." Matt chims, pulling Anthony hand away and swaging sideways, leaning enough that his back rests on Frank a little. He takes the contact, pressing his own hand against Red's shoulder blades. "But I'm fine, Anthony." 

Frank smirks. Matt could break the guy in two without blinking and yet he sounds so casually nice. Good lawyer, kind citizen and pretty boy. Frank kinda digs the roleplay.

"I know you can't know it, but I'm hella of a catch." He swings forward again. "You can touch if you want."

"I believe you." Matt says without offering a hand. 

"And Rambo in another hand…" 

"With him I already did my fair share of touching" Red beats him to whatever he's about to say. He then smiles warmly. "You don't always need sight." 

To that, Anthony gives up. He just chuckled awkwardly, shrugging. "Guess so." He disappears after a bit, distracted with something else. 

"Look at you " Frank grumbles, scoffing. 

Josie laughs with him, trying to conceal it "Sorry about that boys."

"He 's high as shit." Matt informs her. 

She shrugs, "He gives good tips." With that she turns to the next customer.

Frank finally puts his hand away from Matt, still smiling. "So sight is not always needed?" 

"Shut the hell up." 

*

Frank goes back to church. 

He tells himself it has nothing to do with Red. 

But the first time, when he walked inside the old place and couldn’t find Red, his stomach twisted. It was ridiculous to think they would bump into each other casually. It was even more pathetic that he showed up at the same time and same day. As if Murdock would remember. He sank his fingers in holy water, drawing a cross in his forehead and sitting down in the front benches, the old couple was there again which was nice. Frank took more time to study them this round. She was wearing a soft pink sweater and her white hair was cut short, a big rosary hanging from her neck. It took more attention to catch the dirt in her hands. Mud. She probably gardens. Where in the middle of Hell's Kitchen Frank does not know. Maybe she works in a gardening store. Given her age it’s probably owned by them. The man is wearing a blue shirt bottom to the neck and some khaki pants, face wrinkled, eyes soft as he looks up, mouth mumbling as he prays. 

“Should I worry for them?” 

Frank manages to contain the smile that creeps over his mouth. He turns around and finds Matt smiling down at him. The candle lights making his messy hair, shower with the last snow of march, looked like a translucent red halo. “Not sure yet.” Frank teases, moving to the side to leave space for Red. “You spying on me, Red?”

“Says the man in my church and on my bench.” He blurts, flopping next to him.

“It 's yours now?” Franks makes a show to turn around, looking. “Didn’t see your name anywhere.”

“Here” Matt grumbles, his fingers brushing on Frank's hand and guiding them in the space in between them. To Frank's surprise there's a series of carvings. 

 ⠍⠁⠞⠞⠓⠑⠺ ⠍⠥⠗⠙⠕⠉⠅

( Matthew Murdock)

“Braille?” Frank breath hitches a little as Matt curls his fingers over his palm, putting more pressure into the cravings. “Can’t believe you vandalize your local church.” 

“Shush it.” Matt says low, grinning. “But see, it is mine.” 

“Imma carved mine too and you’ll see.” 

Matt chuckles, “Learn braille first.” 

“What makes you think I don’t already know?” Franks murmurs.

“What does it say, Frank?”

“Matt Murdock.”

“Matthew, actually.”

“Of course you put your full name.” Frank snaps his tongue, putting his arm around the bench again, his forearm touching Matt’s back, the devil softens at the gesture, tilting his head a little so his hair brushes against Frank's skin. “Imma learn, you’ll see.”

“See not so much.” Matt said, because he couldn’t help himself. “But I’m eager nevertheless.”

“Brat.”

“So, Frank, you came back to be with yourself again?” Matt grumbles, putting both hands on the top of the cane, fingers long and tight. Castle found himself enthralled by them. They were damn long and harsh, from fighting with those damn batons. They had felt almost like feathers on top of his hand moments ago. 

“The company more so.” He admits, feeling his face heat up.

“Of God?”

“Ain’t the devil just about the same?”

“I would argue no.” Matt cut through, shaking his head. “Particularly not in front of Jesus.” He winces as he says that, pointing with his head to the crucified men. 

“You held the crown dude in high stamina? Is that why you went ahead and recreated his greatest hit?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Matt says, playing aloof.

“Dying and resurrecting, Matthew, more in Jesus' image than the devils.” 

“Then Jesus said to him, ‘Be gone, Satan!’ for it is written you shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve. I do believe I serve God in the ways I can. Being the devil. For one.” 

“Kinda twisted don’t you think?”

“Not more than you.” Matt replies, dryly, like their new found friendliness hasn't entirely deceived him of who Frank could be. Or was. Either way. “Who do you serve, Frank?”

“Myself.” Frank replies without a doubt. “My family.” 

“Your family.” The devil repeats and there’s something heavy and dangerous. Frank tenses at that. “You sure about that?”

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds? Uh? Well, that’s bull shit, Red. Wound like that ain’t never gonna heal. Not by your gods hands and not by my killing or your vengeance.”

“My vengeance?”

“Do not act like what you do is something other than that.”

“I’m not the one with a kill list, Frank.” 

“I’m not the one with fucking horns.” He barks back and gets shush by the old lady. 

“I have nothing to avenge. That’s the guy with the shield and the asshole with the iron suit.” Matt grumbles.

“Do not curse at church, Matthew.” Frank scolds him, his anger simmering a little, if only enough to make a joke. “And let’s not pretend you don’t. I know your history.”

“Do you?”
“Enough. I know you ain’t got a mother, I know your father was good but died and left you alone. I know you went blind being a good nice altar boy and I know all that fucking anger inside of you is bound to explote eventually.” 

“No cursing, Frank.” Matt says, between grit teeth. “Good. So? I help. I don’t do it for the pain. I protect. I don’t--”

“You fight. You are not just a shield, you are right about that, you don’t just protect. And god knows you ain’t just a suit. You are not a hero” Frank jabs his finger to the center of Matt’s chest. “ You are a vigilante. You do it for your family just like I do it for mine. Even if for people that aren’t like us that makes no sense.” 

“It’s been established for a while.” Red snaps back, his eyebrows almost touching each other with the will power of his frown. “What are you aiming at?”

“I’m aiming for that, that you are just like me.”

“I’m nothing like you.” 

“And yet we both know that you are lying, uh?”

"I don’t believe that.” 

Frank snorts and sneers, “For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved." The verse feels bitter in his mouth and suddenly he ain’t sure why he’s pushing like this. Matt, apparently, isn’t sure why the hell he’s standing it because he’s on his feet before Frank can do anything about it. 

He doesn’t stop him. 

He regrets this for days. 

*

Thursday at 5pm he comes back. 

He doesn’t expect to find Matt and yet he’s there, sitting on their bench. 

Franks wets his forehead with holy water and walks steady. The old couple is there and this time they nod his way when he enters, he sits down next to Red and puts an arm out again, resting on the bench and barely touching Matt. Ritualistic almost. 

“I’m starting to think you like spending time with me.” Matt says softly.

“Nah,” Frank snaps his tongue. “I just like the ambience.” 

To that Red snorts, shoving at him. “Dickhead.”

“In the eyes of the lord.” Frank teases. “How was your day, Red?”
“Are you genuinely asking about my day?”

“Do you need me to add some biblical nuance so you give me a straight answer?” Frank clears his throat “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble--”

“You really like Matthew, don’t you?” Red grins.

“Kinda my favorite.”

Red laughs, the corner of his eyes wrinkling. Shaking his head. “I had a good day, actually.” 

“Ready to share more with the class?”

“Got a new case. An apartment complex trying to get sold out. Jess helped me with some of the scooping. We went out for lunch and she didn’t criticize every single thing I did, that’s a plus.”

“That 's good.” 

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your day, Frank.”

It strikes him like a thunder the fact that no one had really asked him about his damn day since Maria died. It coils in the bottom of his stomach, acidic and corrosive, making him shift and extract his arm from Red’s bench. “Same old.” 

“Meaning?”

“The boys at the construction chat me up about ya, they're all crushing on the devil.” He says, evenly. “Finally did my laundry. Not much, really.”

“New detergent.” 

“Don’t be weird about it.”

“It smells nice.”

Of course it fucking does. Frank spent a solid half an hour sniffing detergents until he ended buying something completely overpriced that smelled like honey, lavender and mint. It 's damn nice. Damn dumb too. 

“That's being weird about it, Red.” 

They stay in silence for a moment. The old couple stands up and leaves not without nodding in their direction again. “She’s having heart issues.” Red mutters once they are out of the chapel.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Red.” Frank bites back.

“That's blasphemy.” Matt says and this time he actually sneers. “She knows. She’s drinking her meds on time. It’s not getting better.”

“Fuck.”

“Frank.”

“Sorry, Red, but that some damn sad news.” Then he thinks. “Is my heart alright?”
Red smiles a little. “Yes.” Then he stops. “Going a little fast maybe. But healthy. Your knee however…”

“Yeah the old witch been busted since…”

“You were ten?”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Frank.” Red scolds him again. “The sound of the tissue and the bone gives it away.” 

“Jes--Sorry. Go back to talk about my detergent, man.” 

“You are right tho. There’s no fixing that.” Red says with a wince. “We can fix the growling on your stomach, tho.” 

“My stomach is not growling.” 

They eat at a shitty dinner where people know Matt by first name basis. Frank can help but smile at that. The whole damn kitchen knows the bastard. It’s a warm knowledge. Reminds him of Maria, the way the old ladies in Queen would ask her about her mum and grandma, always addressing her like the sun shines right from her asshole. It was hard not to fall in love with someone like that. Not that that is where this is heading. To be fair, Frank is not sure where he’s going with Matt. It’s easy being around him. Easy and painless, somehow. There’s another monster to tackle there where he could wonder when being without immediate, piercing pain has become an exception for him. But for now he prefers to chat with Matt, his head getting fuzzy with the man’s retorts. 

“No way.” 

“How the fuck did you think I knew all those verses?”

“I--” Red clicks his mouth shut. “I don’t know. But seminary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s insane.” 

Frank kicks him under the table. Sipping on his stale coffee. “I didn’t go through with it for a reason.”

“Crazy.” 

“Shut up.” 

Frank pays for their food and offers Matt his arm, blushing as he does so- like a moron. Matt takes it and they walk without any destination for a while. Eventually Matt hundles against him and Frank feels his whole body buzzing. 

It makes him hazy enough he ends up tripping over a step and it's about to slip when Matt catches him. He snorts holding onto him. And Matt has the nerve to say “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall.”

“Imma punch you.” Frank growls and pushes him away. His face is even hotter than before. It’s too easy though, so he adds, fixing the glasses that he almost tossed to the ground by slipping on plane air. “If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”

“Good save.” Matt says cracking up.

“You too, Red.” 

*

So, what if he starts reading the bible again? Who's gonna know? Well, granted there’s the small chance that Matt can smell the type of paper or ink or god knows what in his skin and figure the whole thing up. And for that Frank makes sure to wash his hands two, three, fourth times after doing so. He even showers. Just in case. True is, he’s running out of bible verses. So he ends up buying highlighters from a boy in the subway and paints yellow half of Matthew’s gospel.

They keep meeting up, every Thursday, to the point where the old couple introduces themselves and chat Matt nice and long. Frank just stands and nods, saying ma’am and sir.

“I like Claudia.” Matt confirms after they talk. There is a sad note to his voice and Frank can’t really help the urge to put an arm around his shoulders. 

They walked a lot and Frank doesn't mind it. As March turns into June the weather gets nicer. He always loved New York in the spring.

*

“Yo! Did you see what the devil did last night?” Tayler shouts in their general direction. He had been out for half an hour ‘going to buy lunch’ but Frank knew he spent more than half of that trying to get the waitress at the dinner to go on a date with him. He snaps his neck upwards. 

“¿Que paso?” Asks Dani, drinking water and quirking an eyebrow. “He good?”

“It be a damn miracle if he survives that?”

It’s all it takes for Frank to stand from the corner he’s been sitting on, he tries to conceal it, to hide away the panic that rises from within but his damn hands start to shake. “What happened?”

“He and some other vigilantes fought against aliens! Fucking aliens, man! In the middle of central park too. There’s this clip going around of the devil getting blasted at. The poor bastard.” Taylor shakes his head. “I mean it man, the president needs to do something about the alien---”

Frank stops listening, dropping his helmet and jogging away. Judd whistles his way. So much for nobody whistling. “Ey, Francisco, the hell you doing?”
“Family emergency.” He grunts over his shoulder. “My---” be smart you need the gig. Friend is too distant. Cousin too. Brother, sister, sibling… Well that feels wrong. Wife, he doesn’t wear a ring… “--boyfriend lives near Central Park.” 

He could have said girlfriend. 

He barges into his apartment, already showing his teeth. “Aliens?!” He shouts and shoves at the nearest person who happens to be Danny- thank god because he was in no mood to push Jones or Cage only to be pushed back by their sheer strength. The guy stumbles back right into Cage’s arms, who immediately says “Ey, calm the hell down, Castle!”

“Fuck you.” Castle barks, his eyes finding Matt’s body already laid on his couch. Jessica and another woman are attending to him and Frank has the irracional urge to push them both away. 

“He’s alright, Castle.” Jones grits, but Frank served , Frank knows what that kind of statement can mean and sometimes it’s very damn little. He seen army doctors scramble for a life way gone, he seen pararescue, damn it, he seen Curtis losing his fucking leg to stay next to a guy that was never gonna make it. Nobody says it while you are in the middle of it.

So he clenches his jaw, watching as Matt bleeds over his couch. He should’ve bought the damn covers.  He’s wearing his red heavy dooty suit, the horns long gone so he sits in the end of the couch where Red’s  head is placed. Something like bilis but much more bitter climbs up his throat as he sees Matt’s hair all mess up. His horns get sweaty. He mentioned that. He fixes the hair, erratically, eyes finding the second woman who was very clearly wearing a nurses uniform. 

“How bad?” He keeps his fingers in Matt’s hair. 

She flickers her eyes from Matt's stomach to him for just a second, narrowing her eyes. “Bad.” 

He nods, and breaths in slowly. “Who did it?” This time he’s talking to Jessica. 

“Some dude.” Jessica's voice came tight.

“He 's alive?”

There’s a silence, heavy and damp with the smell of blood. 

“Yes” “No” “Doesn’t matter.” 

Jessica, Danny and Luke reply at the same time. 

“I know who’s telling the truth.” He grunts, still fixing Matt’s hair. He seems to be incapable of pulling his hand away. The wound in his stomach is still wide open, skin torn and burn around it. It’s bad. Real bad.  “Ma’am, not to push but that’s bleeding a shit ton.” 

“What’s your name?”

“Pete.”

“What’s your real name?” She says with the same short tone.

“Frank.”

“Well Frank, I’m Clare, and believe me I’m gonna do whatever I can to keep Matt breathing, you understand that? Let’s just hope the bastard works with me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says but it’s tight. The whole world feels like it's swallowing him whole. His eyes catch the bible on the floor, blood dripping into it, yellow highlighter contrasting against the carmesi black blood and the white-bible pages. He had left on the couch before leaving for work. It aches, for some reason. It feels so damn stupid. “You hear that, Red,” he grunts then “The nice lady needs you to behave.” Frank doesn’t realize he’s murmuring against Red’s hair, his fingers sink into the man's scalp as he nudges like a cat. Jessica is watching him. Of course she is. He looks pathetic. 

He calls Curtis after Claire finishes. Walks outside of the apartment and holds the phone to his ear in silence. 

“Frank?” Curtis asks, hollow. He’s been living with his mother, still mourning his girl. “Frank?”

“Red got hurt.”

“Uh?” Curtis' voice gets muffled by him getting out of the house, the noise of his suburban neighborhood. “Who?”

“Red.” Frank says quietly. “Red got hurt bad, Curt. I don’t…”

“I don’t even know who that is, Frank.” Curtis cuts him off. “But I’m going.”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, man.” 

He leaves Curtis at his apartment taking care of Matt. He gives Frank a wide eyed look as he stares down at the unconscious man. Clare finishing her work. 

“You brought a second opinion?” She snaps, but she doesn’t seem annoyed for what that’s worth. 

“Nah, you seem to know  your stuff. I’m just…”

“Taking care of him.” She finishes.

At that Curtis clears his throat. “So that’s Red?”  He cocks his head. “The hell happened to him?”

“Being a moron happened to him.” He snaps, but walks around the couch, his fingers twitching to sink into Matt’s hair again. He doesn't. He’s not sure he could survive the look Curtis would certainly give him. 

“I thought Red was your girl.” Curtis- to add insult to the injury- adds.

“Just not a girl.” Jessica explains. She is still at his apartment, folded in one armchair like a mean old cat. Or a doberman. 

Curtis nods at that, giving Frank a thoughtful look. “Is it gonna make any diffrence if I ask you not to do something stupid?” 

Frank doesn’t answer. He just signals at Jessica to follow him. Doberman it is. She follows and he’s suddenly very aware why she was the only one who didn’t lie to him.

He remembers listening to the radio in his father's Ford Capri- when the piece of rust was brand new instead of piling up dust in the sidewalk.  The reporter was speaking in that low, husky tone grown ups pull for special topics. He couldn’t be older than eleven back then. Wars were something he played as, something that showed up in movies and comic books. They were speaking about gulf war, names of countries and politics Frank barely registered. Then his father said Si vis pacem, para bellum. Frank frowned at him and his father laughed, that gruff deep laughter that made him wiry. “If you want peace, prepare for war.” 

Frank did not understand back then. 

War puts things into perspective. 

The kids and Maria dying seal the deal. 

Jessica didn’t flinch when Castle put them down. One batch, two batch. Penny and Dime. She just cracked her neck and back when they were done. It all smelled of blood, gunpowder and harsh metal. Aliens died just like anyone else and, as his dad said, si vis pacem, para bellum. 

He followed her to her apartment and drank everything at hand. 

“You should go back to your boyfriend.” She groans eventually. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Castle grunts. “He’s not even my friend.”

Jessica buckles out a laugh, “Okay, man.” 

That’s enough for Castle to get up from the floor, cleaning the dust off his pants. “I’m going but you are not that clever.” 

“You are going, aren’t you?” 

*

He spends the night at Micro’s house. He visits often, trying to keep it clean. Eventually he’s gonna have to put things in boxes and somewhere safer but he doesn't have the guts yet. He sleeps in the couch on the basement and wakes up with a fucking headache. Getting back to the city is a pain in the ass and he honestly wonders how the fuck he got here to begin with. He had a blackout a few blocks away from his home. So, god knows. It was hot as summer crawled around, the smell of trash and the general bull shit that New York was famous for fuming in the heat. He wanted to rip his own skin off. 

He stammers in front of his apartment door. The kids from next door give him a wiry look and for the first time they don’t say ‘hi’. There was a message from Judd on his phone asking if his boyfriend was ok and saying he could take another day off if there was any trouble. He thanks him, and after a second sends another text yeah, he got hurt. nothin bad but I rather stay with him if that ain’t a problem.

Judd reply quickly no issues son. hope ur partner gets better soon. 

Eventually he breathes in deep and walks inside. 

Matt some-fucking-how is sitting, chatting with Curtis. “How the fuck are you seating?” 

“It wasn’t that bad, Frank.” Red has the nerve to say and looks bored at his worry. 

“I’m gonna beat up.” The growl comes harsh and natural. “You fucking asshole were torn open in my damn couch and you say it ain’t that bad?”

“You smell like death.” Matt bites back. Like a petty child. His face is badly bruised and the wounds are all covered in bandages. White and red. Frank wants to both kick his head until it explodes and--Damn, he doesn’t even know what. Hold. Touch. Heal. It was something tender and more violent somehow. It didn’t come as a surprise to notice he was shaking again. 

“You look like death.” He snaps. Turning to Curtis. “Did the moron give you any shit?”

“Jesus.” Curt mumbles and scoffs. “Nah, he’s good.” 

“He ain’t good. He’s a knucklehead with a dead wish.” Frank is still hungover and the world feels abstract. Like punching and hugging getting real similar in his head sort of abstract. 

“You know I’m not a damsel. And you sure as hell are not a knight in shining armor.” 

Frank, who was grabbing a mug to make coffee, slams the thing on the counter, breaking it. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t have to go avenge me like some--”

“I didn’t avenge shit. Bad guys needed to be dealt with by someone who could take the hits.” 

“And I can’t?”  Red stands up, using the couch to do so.

“Apparently no.”

They stay quiet, the silence thick and heavy. Franks feels the urge to throw the remaining pieces of mug at his head. Instead he cleans the mess. Curtis clears his throat. “I already told Matt but he needs to take it easy. Left you something--” 

“You heard him. I ain’t his keeper.” Frank cuts him off. “He wants to kill himself, I ain't gonna stop him.”

“You are being a dick.” Matt snaps.

“You--” Frank clenches his jaw. “You--” 

You scare the crap out of me. 

He breaths. He can’t say that. One. Two. Three. Exhales. “Either of you want coffee?” 

Both of them groan a ‘yes’.

*

Red spent a couple of days at Frank place. Not that he had much of a choice given that he barely could move. Cage came around and hugged him tight, which suprise Frank for some reason, he stayed for dinner and talked with Matt about a case. Castle ignores them for the most part. Danny showed up too, sitting on the floor and telling Matt about some gossip. Or something that could be gossip or a telenovela- Castle didn’t try to decipher that. Jessica didn’t show up but sent Thai food. It eases something inside of Castle. To know someone was out there taking care of Matt.

Frank helps Matt shower, get dressed and force him to sleep in his bed. Matt complained thru every single thing and Castle was sure it was a matter of time before he puts a bullet in the lawyers head. 

“I don’t need help.”

“Yes you do, you tried to do it alone and slip and open your stitches.” Frank says as he helps Red undress. He could feel how uncomfortable Matt was, but good riddles like he gave a shit. It was not the first naked body he saw. Let alone the first naked body he washed and cared for in nothing but a clinical brotherly manner. Or not brotherly. Afterall he couldn’t call Matt his brother for a reason. It wasn’t like that, though. And fuck Murdock if he wanted to make weird. “Want me to put out in a more catholic fashion?  I tell you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you, that you may be children of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust.”

“I prefer not to be recite the bible while I’m butt naked in front of someone else.”

“What a shame. Because, you know, above all things be earnest in your love among yourselves, for love covers a multitude of sins. And the most important bit: Be hospitable to one another without grumbling. You aint being fucking hospitable to me, Re--Fuck! You did that on purpose.” 

Frank, who was just struggling to get Matt’s head under the faucet, was now himself under it. shirt and pants soaking wet, holding Murdock by the waist trying to help him from falling in the shower for a second time. 

“Me?” Red grumbled. “You know the Lord detest the lying li--” 

Frank didn’t let him finish, he shoved him under the cold water, both of them now soaking wet. 

“Shut up before I drown you.” 

Matt smiles at him. 

That night Frank sits next to Red on the couch, his arms around the back of it. Matt takes it for what it is and slumps against Castle. It 's weird. Surely. But Matt's hair is real nice against his face. And Matt's body is warm, solid and alive. And Frank is terrified. Scare fucking shitless. He doesn't want to lose Red and the revelation comes like a punch to the gut. 

He doesn't ask Matt not to do it again. 

Instead he promises himself to do so. 

*

By July his fingers are itching for something to shoot at. Matt started to show up in his apartment without previous notice. He says it’s for the AC- it’s been broken for years at his place and he’s always too busy to have it fix- regardless he lounges around Frank’s apartment almost completely naked, with the exception of his blasted glasses and his boxers, trying out every possible surface. And where he’s not lying naked he’s piling papers in braille, his computer resting on the coffee table. Which is his favorite spot for working. His other favorite spot- tho this was for resting like an old house cat- had turned out to be the dinner table. He would stretch out very much like a kitten and groan. 

“The fuck are you on my table for?”
“I’m sweaty.”

“Red. Don’t make me ask twice.” Frank grunted, sitting in the chair at the head of the table, propping his elbows at both sides of Red’s head and looking down. They were breathing each other's air and if he closed in a little their noses would touch. 

“Everything feels too hot and I’m sweating too much.” Red cries out, taking his glasses off. “My skin feels on fire on the regular this--I don’t like summer.”

“No-fucking-body likes New York summer,” Frank says casually but looks at his AC with anger. “That shit ain’t gonna run any colder I’m sorry.” 

“Is ok.” Matt stretches against, his arms long going against Frank, rounding his ribs. Franks wonders if Matt wants to crush them. “Just… My own sweat feels overwhelming, I’m dripping wet and everything is sticky and hot and---”

“I know, sunshine.” Frank whispers. In reality he doesn’t catch the slip up. Red does. He cocks his head and grins. Frank pretends not to see it. Clearing his throat and going for his preferred method of distraction. “Throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. It’s called hell’s kitchen for a reason, Red.”

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” Matt says and Frank recognizes Matthew and grins. “Are you my angel, Frank?”

“As long as you are my devil.” It's a joke, Frank tells himself. Just a joke. “But you gotta remember tho, this is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous.”

“What am I, Frank?”

Frank smiles at that, lowering until his mouth was close to Red, resting his cheek on the table. It is cold, Matt was right. “Both.” 

Frank was taking at least five cold showers a day. Matt didn’t comment on it. After all even with AC on he was sweating bullets, his hairline dripping as he huff and puff during his work hours- the fresh inside of  cement making it at least a little barely in the blazing heat of  July. Then of course he could either summit himself to ride the subway press in between scalding hot bodies and sweaty dress shirts or walk the thirty block to his apartment, the afternoon being everything but fresher, his skin perly with exhaustion as he dragged his boots, that felt too heavy and hot, the socks drench, only to get home to a very naked Matt and stuffy air from keeping everything close so the AC could work a little magic. The whole place ended up smelling like skin, sweat and that very Murdock musky scent that seemed both expensive and natural. Frank was gonna go nuts. So he would pushed the door open, grunts, and pushs the door of the bathroom open and sit on the bath, water almost cold (tho to be fully realistic it was quite rather warm) leaving his head under the faucet like a diy waterboarding, breathing heavy from his mouth and nose, water puffing in hot breaths. The thunding of the stream made his head empty with the sheer exception of the reminder of Red. 

Red naked in the next room. 

Red sticky. 

Red warm.

Red naked. 

He can only grunt again, pressing a palm to his dick. 

It was so fucking annoying. 

More so because he knew. He fucking knew Matt could heard him getting rock hard. Which made the whole business worse. 

It wasn’t about Red. 

It was just the idea of another hard, steamy body, a body that could crash bone, a body that could tear something with those bear teeth, a body that could jump in between building, a body that could play pretend to be a pretty boy, a body that could recite bible verses and smirk at him, a body…

Fuck.

Fucking summer.

Fucking Red. 

He would get out of the shower and prepare something to eat, knowing damn well Red could essentially forget about basic human needs, trying really hard not to look at the body sprawled over his table and failing, ending up sitting on a chair way too close for comfort but… Well. If Red was so damn comfy parading around in his underwear Frank could at least have the balls to make Red a notch uncomfortable in return. So they would bicker, some religious crap in between while Matt told him about his latest case or his new dumbass hero adventure with Jones- tho neither her nor Matt would call it that. And after enough talking the heat of Matt’s body, or the cooking- who was Frank to tell- would get to him and he would go for the second round of cold (not cold at all) shower. 

After they ate they Matt would sit on the floor in front of the couch, his fingers trailing the papers and typing into his computer. Frank watched as he operated the little machine that worked with a series of commands he didn’t entirely understand. Matt tried to explain it to him a couple of times and laughed when Frank lied and said he got it. 

“You're lying.” Matt said, cheeks red. Probably because of the fucking weather. 

“No I’m not.”

“Frank.” Matt scoffed. “I can hear you lying.”

“Shut up.”

Frank get’s the braillenote better. It’s a tiny machine with a series of braille silhouettes in the bottom, the texture changing as you follow the lines in the screen of Matt’s computer, translating the impress letters into braille. He feels them changing under his fingertips and curses himself from still not learning it fully. He’s been studying, tho. Only because he wants to piss Matt off. On top of the slim screen there’s a series of bottoms that let Matt write his own stuff in braille, it also has a bunch of commands for text-to-speech. Matt leaves it low as shit and when Frank frowns cuz he barely hears the words he has to bite his own ton tongue not to ask how the fuck do you hear that. 

“Why don’t you just use headphones?”
“Too distracting.”

“Why?”

“They get static and shit.”

“Then buy a good pair.”

“Too expensive.” Matt says, snapping his tongue.

“You are lawyer.”

“Frank,” Matts says then. “Did you ever pay me for my work?”

“Well…”

“Exactly. If I did less pro bono…”

“I’ll buy you some.” 

There is a beat of silence where Matt looks at the floor, his glasses slide down, he frowns. “Uh. Why would you do that?”

“Do I need a reason?” Frank grumbles, looking away, he’s face is getting red too- he knows it and Matt knows it too probably. “Matthew said it better Red; be careful that you don't do your charitable giving before men, to be seen by them, or else you have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.”

“So you are gonna buy me headphones for God?”

“Imma buy you headphones cuz I never pay you for your hard work.” 

“Bull shit.” 

“Well, stop whining.” Frank grunts, nudging Matt with his feet. He’s sitting on the couch and needs to fold himself to hook his chin on Red’s shoulder pointing at another bottom. “What does this do?”

The guy in the shop welcomes him egear. It’s one of those old school music stores, he glances at the guitars. He could try that again. Maybe. He pictures himself with Matthew, the latter naked on the floor, his glasses gone as he listens to Frank play and make fun of him. 

“Can I help you?” The kid asks. 

Frank smiles just enough “I’m looking for real sharp headphones.” 

The kid smirks back, he’s young and has a certain charm to him. It’s the type of boy that Frank remembers quitting the first week of the boot camp. “What for, sir?” 

“Uh--” He stutters. “It 's gift. My--” he stutters again “ friend is blind and has issues with static and shit with regular headphones. Real sensitive ears” He can’t quite explain his friend has super hearing but welp. 

“Any price range?”

“Nah.”

He taps into Micro funds. Is not like the man can’t complain given that he stole most of it. He buys Matt the most expensive pair in the store. Some Stark tech. He chuckles at it and pays the insane amount without wincing. He also buys a guitar, tho, it’s the cheapest, used one. 

When he gets home Matt is already there. He spends most nights there too now. On the couch. Or the table. Frank is not sure how he bears it. He’s wearing one of Frank’s shirts because even though he all but moves in without permission he never brings much, only a duffle bag. Frank bought him a toothbrush and some expensive shampoos. He was tired of sniffing shit at the supermarket. 

“You bought a guitar?”
“Creepy.” Frank mutters under his breath.

“I heard that.” 

“No shit.” He shoves the wrapped present into his arms. “Here.” 

He busies himself with tuning the guitar and tries to ignore Matthew as he opens the present. Theres a heavy silence where Frank is afraid he finally fuck up. When he turns around he finds Matt trailing the headphones with his finger tip, serius. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Matt grunts. Harsh.

“Red-”

“Just…” Matt shrugs. “This is really nice, Frank.”

“Stark industries, sunshine.”

To that, Matt grins. “No. I mean yes they are really nice. But I meant. You. Buying them. That’s real nice.”

“Don’t be weird about it.”

“And you are back to being dick. Good.”

“Damn right. And don’t get it twisted.” Frank says, but he’s smiling.

Red then turns to him fully and Frank is sure he can see him. The sweat coiling his lower back feels intrusive, his chest tied with the suffocating air that smells so much of heat, skin and Murodock. He needs another cold shower. More so when Matt says, with a wolfish smile, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”

Frank takes a long cold shower. 

*

October swings around in the blink of an eye. They keep going to church- and Matt finally puts on clothes around the apartment . He also doesn’t spend half as much time there. Frank wants to shoot himself when he realizes he misses the annoying bastard. They frequent the church enough that the old couple invites them for a cup of coffee afterwards sometimes. Frank always says yes because his mother may have raised a killer but not a rude man and watches as Red beams at Claudia. Frank’s sure she thinks they are a couple. Her husband introduces himself as Richard but his wife only calls him Rich. The man is quiet most of the time and Frank and him just share grunts, until the man figures out that Frank served. 

“How long did you serve?”

“Long enough, sir.” He replies, dryly.

The man snorts. “You carry it well, if that’s any consolation.” He wets his lips, hand trembling. “I did four tours back in the day.” Frank just grunts. “Met your husband there?”

“We ain’t married.” Frank replies. “Matt never served. Been blind since he was a boy.” 

“He’s a good man.” Rich says with a nod. “Good Christian.”

Frank swallows the scoff. “He’s a handful.” 

To that Rich laughs. 

He doesn’t realize he didn’t correct Rich until it is too late. 

Matt uses the punisher hoodie on Halloween. He also buys Frank some tacky red horns and forces him to wear them out. Frank- who’s a self proclaimed asshole, had bought himself a I’m Not Daredevil sweater- so given that he’s already gonna be humillate either way, wears it. He doesn’t tell Matt about it. They end up drinking at Josie’s, Jones almost falls off her stool from how hard she laughs. 

“Guys…” Luke says, cringing. He’s wearing a football shirt and has two black strikes on his cheeks. “Really?”
Danny is dressed up as Daniel LaRusso and Frank tells Matt about it in a low whisper making the devil blurt out a big laugh. He also tells him that Jones is not wearing any costume. He shakes his head and grabs a sharpie from the other side of the bar, hooking an arm around Jones shoulder and wrestling with her to draw her a nose and whiskers. He loses. Clearly. 

Josie is also wearing horns and winks in Frank’s direction. 

It’s a proper night out and Frank genuinely wonders when he has become a person who goes out with friends. 

It 's bound to end. 

*

He kills again. 

Instead of going home he goes to Matt’s apartment. It doesn’t feel bad. At all. It feels righteous and right, the memory of his own words colliding against his chest. I'm not the one that dies, kid. I'm the one that does the killing. The thing is, every time I try to be someone different, that's when the wrong people get hurt. He knew when he said it he meant it. He knows is true. He knows all of this. He ain’t no coward. He ain’t gonna pretend it didn’t happen. Ain’t gonna shy away from the fact he believes in what he does and that sometimes bad guys need to be put down like a dog that snaps one too many times. It is crushing to notice the thought of hiding it flickering through his mind. Maybe if he can hold it back, clean himself for hours and avoid Matt for enough time the night could’ve never happened. The thought snaps like lightning and he walks straight to Matt’s place. 

It had been a young kid and a shitty guy in the middle of an alleyway. 

He could’ve just beat the shit outta him. 

Instead he emptied a clip on his body. 

He drags himself through the rooftop and drops in Matt's couch. There’s blood in his shirt. He swallows bitterly. The waiting hurts him a little, eventually he dozes off and wakes up with the sound of the bedroom door sliding open. 

“I thought you were doing better.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Red?”
“You're still at war.”

The words of his father resonate in his skull like a miss bullet. You don’t hear the ones that get you, but he feels this one. He chuckles with no humor. “ Si vis pacem, para bellum, Matthew.” 

“Don’t.” Matt barks. Don’t act like we are close. Don’t act like he earned the right to mutter Matt’s name. “Don’t give me bull shit, Frank.” 

“You know, Red? How do you know you ain’t dropping bodies yourself?” His voice is nasty and gravelly. “You are one billy club to the wrong head away from being me.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Does it make you sleep well at night? Dissociating from what you do with your buddies in the dark?” He’s sure his father said something disgustingly similar to him. Years ago. 

“Why are you here, Frank?”

It stings. It’s sharp and there’s no shielding from it. Could be a simple question but there’s also more there, the explicit innuendo that he’s no longer welcome to just come to Matt. That his companionship was always outgoing by Frank celibacy on murder. He wants to reply. Say you. Cuz I don’t want to lie to you. Cuz my hands are not shaking and that’s suddenly terrifying.

“I don’t know.”

Matt nods. “Then go.” 

*

On Thursday he doesn’t go to church.

*

Silence has always been hard for Frank. It was back when he served. When the gun fires die down and he was still standing there, breathing hard and fast. Matt could be a dick and an entitled moron but he was right sometimes. Right when he said Frank was still at war. Right when he said he was getting better and right at pushing him out because once you are in it again, then it’s harder to get out. He kills again. And again. He kills until he’s drenched in blood and he’s alone with guns and broken ribs. Daredevil shows up more than once and beats the everlasting crap out of him. Every single time everything is too loud for them to speak. Frank takes the blows and savors them, like the punches to his face and the bruises are lingering love. 

He goes back to his safe house- not his apartment- and takes a freezing cold shover. Winter also sucked in New York. With his head under the torrent of tumbling water he gets close to being in silence so he screams, biting down his knuckles. 

New year arrives and he’s pulling a trigger, the screams of the drug dealer are drowned down by the cheerful screams from the people in all the buildings around him. 

Is that same night that the drug dealer's buddies corner him up and beat him to a pulp. Is a close call. Enough he ends up dizzy, his head not functioning right. Pain and panic wash over him and there’s nothing to be done. He gets out in the end and stumbles into the night, dropping to his knees in a dark alleyway, his leather gloves sinking into the dirty snow. Then there’s silence. 

*

He dreams of Maria and the kids. They are eating strawberries in the park, Lisa and Jr are throwing pieces at each other and Maria scolds them to then wink at Lisa, putting a whole strawberry into her mouth, laughing. Her lips are bright red. He leans in and kisses her and tastes the fruit. The kids make disgusted sounds and Frank pulls back laughing. It doesn’t startle him to see Red laying in the middle of the picnic, his head on Maria’s lap, she’s fixing his hair the same way Frank had done many times, he watches as his wife grins down at Matt and kisses him quickly. Is sweet and Frank wants to watch forever. Jr makes another funny noise and jumps on Matt's belly, he catches the kid and starts tickling him. Frank scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Why don’t you play for us, daddy?” Lisa asks and he grabs the guitar and plays as bad as humanly possible, making Matt wince and the kids shriek. Maria just rolls her eyes at him. 

Matt kicks in his general direction. “Frank!”

He laughs too and it's easy. So easy. So he draps himself awkwardly and bites him his bone cheek “Stop!” 

“Frank,” Says Maria giggling.

“Frank!” Screams Red. “Frank!”

*

“Frank wake the fuck up!” 

He’s not sure he’s awake. He feels something soft under him and his whole body aches. Frozen. He feels frozen. He opens his eyes slowly to find Clare looking right down at him. He thinks of a bible verse. Or something to say back. Anything. Then he screws them shut. “Matt you screaming is not gonna change the situation… Why don’t you go with Jes--”

“Don’t patronize me, Clare.”

“Murdock I think she’s right…” Jess' voice sounds tight. “Clare knows her shit, let her work.”

“Thanks, Jessica.”

Matt makes a choke sound and Frank hears him leaving the room. The words elude him but he wants to tell him to get his ass back. What was it? Was it Matthew or John? 

“How bad?” Jessica asks. 

“Not worse than Matt the last time we saw each other.” Clare says and it’s almost casual. 

Frank doesn’t really feel her stitching him up. Not sure what she’s really doing. Everything is too cold. The silence is hard on him and he wonders if he’s really awake. Then Clare speaks again. “What’s your deal?”

“Uh?” 

“I know why Matthew does what he does. And I can make a pretty good guess why he does what he does.” Clare's voice is soft and Frank finds it soothing. “What about you.”

“I’m good at it.”

You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. It said, didn’t it? He learned it because he thought Matt would think it was funny.

“Is that enough?”

Jessica scoffs “Probably no.” There’s a sound of ruffling. “These two were not talking, you know?”

“Didn’t realize he was the fucking punisher when I saw him on his knees in front of Matt of all people.” 

“It’s weird, uh?”

“Not really.” Clare's hands are blazing hot against his skin. “Matt puts on horns and plays devil during the night, this, is the least of his problems.” 

“He kills.”

He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him. 

“I know.”

“I don’t think what he does is bad.” Clare doesn’t reply. “I guess that's why I do what I do. Because I get it. It’s an urge and he purges it. We addicts get each other. I don’t regret my shit. He doesn't regret his. He’s not sorry. I get it.” 

When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies.

It may  be John. 

Frank 's not sure.

He drowns back into the freezing cold. 

*

The dreams come back but this time it is Billy, bloody and broken, it’s a million reflections in the carousel. Maria is calling for him and so are the kids. Maybe he should go, stop staring at all the broken pieces that remain.

“Frank,” 

There’s heaviness in his eyes, he blinks slowly, feeling warm hands in his hair. Long fingers. He hums. “Frank?” It takes a tool to look up. Matt is not wearing his glasses. His hair is a mess and he reaches out to fix it out of insitic. Which barely works, because his body is trembling. “Red.” He grunts, fingers locking in the mess on top of the man’s hair. “Hey.” 

Matt breaths heavy. Frank sees the tears before they drop and he’s never felt more of a dickhead. Jessica was right, he’s not sorry for the killing, but for this, for this, he is. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t make me beat you up when you can barely talk,” Matt raps out, lowering his head, pressing his forehead against Frank. “I’m not gonna ask you to stop.”

“I won’t ask you either.” 

“Good. Cuz I won’t” Matt gritts out. “But not like this, Frank. Not to die.”

“Same goes to you, sunshine.”

“It’s a deal, then.” 

“You know what they say about making deals with the devil.”

Matt chuckles and to Frank's surprise kisses his temple. “The minute you are better I’m beating you up.” 

“Deal.” 

*

Things don’t get magically fixed.

Which is, honestly, expectable. 

Frank and Matt don’t talk. January passes and Frank knows the 15 is Matt’s birthday but doesn’t reach out. He wants to. He doesn't. Instead he goes to church. He walked into the place like he would a police station. Guilty. Really to be judged by his sins and trespassing. It’s thursday. He sinks his fingers in the cold holy water and makes a cross in his forehead. In the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit. Their bench is empty and it brokes him a little bit. Not as much as looking over to where Claudia and Rich always sit. 

Is not empty. 

Rich is sitting down, alone, a hand on the bench in front of him. 

It looks like a ghost of himself. 

Frank can’t make it inside.

*

Next Thursday Rich is gone. 

The holy water dries slowly in his forehead.

He sits on the empty bench and takes his knife out of his boot. 

⠊⠀⠍⠊⠎⠎⠀⠽⠕⠥

⠁⠝⠙

⠊⠀⠇⠕⠧⠑⠀⠽⠕⠥

⠋⠗⠁⠝⠅⠀⠉⠁⠎⠞⠇⠑⠀

( I miss you 

and

I love you

Frank Castle)

*

In February he finally packs up Micro’s house. He rents a deposit to put everything he thinks is worth keeping. Is dumb but he cannot throw the things away. He keeps a picture of all of them together. 

*

Frank is back at his apartment and sleeping when he hears something crashing in the living room. Instinct kick in first. Hand under the pillow, gun, safety off, he get’s out of bed in one fluid movement, head down, shoulder square, his feet light on the wooden floor. He hears scrambling and slurred words. Oh shit, shit. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and when it does he frowns. Safety back on. Gun down. Shoulders relax. He stumps to the living room, snatching the door open and glaring at Matthew who now is sprawled on the floor. 

“Frank.” He whines.

He’s pissed off drunk. 

Frank scoffs. Putting the gun on the tv table and rubbing his face. Matt is looking like a hot mess. He’s wearing the punisher hoodie and a well worn pair of sweats, his sneakers covered in mud. Frank watches him and feels his chest swell up. The right crystal of his glasses is shattered. “Matty what the fuck?”

Red chuckles, “You called me Matty.”

“You are drunk.”

“Yes, sir.” Matt chuckles once again, a hiccup coming from the bottom of his stomach. “I’m dizzy.”

Frank groans, moving forward and hauling Matt upwards. Red can be heavy as hell when he wants to so he struggles for a second. Eventually Matt helps out, his arms going around Frank’s neck making him freeze, his own arms tight around Red shoulder blades. Matt rolls his neck, pressing his forehead against Frank’s jaw. “I do too, Frank.” Red’s voice is raggedy. “A lot actually.” 

Frank doesn’t neck him to clarify. “You are drunk, Matt.”

“I know.” Matt agrees. “I’m not asking you to do anything about it. I know you won’t. But you were right, you know? I am a coward.”

“No you ain’t.”

“I can’t say it too you sober--”

“Cuz you know it’s a dumb idea.” Frank cuts him, hugging Matt tighter, pressing his face against Matt's neck. He breathes in deep, the smell of skin and whatever that scent his whole house smells like in summer choking him. It’s the best smell on earth. “It’s 3am, Matt.”

“Yeah.” Matt says slurred, he snuggles against Frank's jaw. “Can we please go to bed?”

“Nah, Matt, you know I ain’t gonna do--”

“Not like that, Frank.” Matt laughed a little bit.

“Like what then?”

“I just like to hear you close.”

“I missed you.” Frank says quietly.

“The Lord watch between you and me, when we are out of one another’s sight.” Matt replies, like that solves everything. 

It breaks his damn heart but ain’t no way he can say no. Frank pushes Matt away, palming the side of his face, taking off the glasses and throwing them on top of the couch, fixing Red’s hair. When he’s done with it he holds him and carries him towards the room. It is easy to push Matt on top of his bed, tucking him in, leaving a small kiss to Matt’s cheek before rounding the bed and flopping on top of the covers. It takes a second before Matt moves closer, resting his cheek on top of Frank’s chest. The prayer comes to mind without him intending to do so, his nana used to say it with a thick accent. She would also tuck him in and kiss his forehead-just like he did with Red- and pray with him. She would whisper Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Bless the bed I lie on. Frank hums as Matt puts an arm around him. It’s funny how he finally has Matthew to bless the bed where he lies. A snort almost escapes him as he thinks about what his nana would say. About a more devilish version of Matthew holding him tight, poisoned on alcohol, undone to be able to confront him. The four corners to my bed, four angels round my head. One to watch, and one to pray, his nana would always smile, for an angry italian lady she gave Frank many of those honest warm smiles, and two bear my soul away. Matt makes a small sound when Frank skims his fingers thru the auburn hair, pulling a bit. Experimental. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Frank presses his nose to the top of Matt’s head, his own mind already slipping, hazy, and thinking not even the lord could take Red away from him right now. 

*

The next morning his bed is empty. Frank is not overly surprised by this, all things considered. It gives him time to stretch out, his bones popping in different places as stares at the ceiling. His mind struggles to stay awake and for some reason he thinks of Karen. Of what she would say to him if she were to be here now, to witness the shitstorm Frank drag himself into. It drags him back to that night in that shitty dinner. You serve bull shit or is just her? He had asked the waitress who just shook her head at him. Maybe Karen would tell him something similar. Meaner, probably. Karen had level with him, those crystal blue eyes soft and sharp, I might have... feelings for Matt Murdock, but it's just a swirl, it's a lot of things. Like... ingredients. It's not love. He's the kind of man that hurts people. Not like you, but... he damages them. Breaks them. Karen had confessed and damn it if Frank didn’t get it now. Matt had gotten under his skin. Bad. In the way you want to shake off, like a parasite that kills you slowly. Now, with years and perspective, with knowing the devil… Now he gets her. Gets why you stay away from rough pretty boys like Matt. 

But, then he said Is that right? Look, I might be generally considered out of my skull, so this might not mean much, but this could be the craziest, most batshit thing I've ever heard in my life. People that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you, are the ones that are close enough to do it. People that get inside you and... and... and tear you apart, and make you feel like you're never gonna recover. Shit, I'd... I... I would chop my arm off right here, in this restaurant, just to feel that one more time for my wife. My old lady, she didn't just break my heart. She... she'd rip it out, she'd tear it apart, she'd step on that shit, feed it to a dog. I mean she was ruthless. She brought the pain. But she'll never hurt me again. You see, I'll never feel that. You sit here and you're all confused about this thing, but you have it. You have everything. So, hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go. You got it?

The broken glasses are still on the couch. Frank keeps them in the drawer next to his bed.

Two hands. 

*

On Thursday he goes back to church. 

The wholy water is cold and Frank feels less heavy, the frozen tips of his fingers drawing the cross as he walks steady, the crucified Jesus Christ looking down at him like a reminder of all the sins he died for. Frank was past the point of blaming his own bull shit in the metaphysical, but he kinda wished that was still an option for him. That he could lash out to Christ for not showing in time to save him. Carved that last deadly sin outta him. 

He sits on their bench and prays. 

One batch, two batch, a penny and dime. 

He almost misses it. Almost stands up too quickly, frustration and anger vivid in his shaky hands, but his fingertips catch it for him.

⠊⠀⠇⠕⠧⠑⠀⠽⠕⠥⠀⠞⠕⠕⠀

⠙⠁⠗⠑⠙⠑⠧⠊⠇

( I love you too

Daredevil)

Frank smiles despite himself and takes his knife out of his boot and adds under his previous message. 

⠞⠓⠑⠀⠏⠥⠝⠊⠎⠓⠑⠗⠀

(The punisher)

*

It was his turn to find the devil. 

So, he does just that. 

“Please, please!” The guy's been crying for an hour and it’s getting genuinely taxing. “I have a child--”

“No you don’t.” Frank growls. “And you better shut the fuck up if you don’t want me to make more painful than it has to be.” 

The guy was part of a gang in the south side and Frank was not particularly interested in the petty crime they committed but he happened to walk the wrong street at the wrong time and well… Well, now he was tied up on a roof with The Punisher punting a gun at him. 

“Why me?” He asks and Frank is tempted to put a bullet in his skull. He did bad enough to deserve it. 

“I think you know.”

“Is it because of that chick? I told her she didn’t---”

“Kid.” Frank grits now. Cocking his gun and saying very slow. “Shut-the-fuck-up.” 

Just as he finishes he hears the feather-like sound on combat boots in concrete. Frank turns around in time to duke and avoid getting a facefull of Matt’s freaking Billy's clubs. The devil- being who he is- takes no time to kick him straight on the chest, sending Frank backwards into the floor. The idea seems poorly planned as his skull hits cement. Or as he whips his feet around, kicking Matt in the shin and then the knee, sending the devil to his knees. Frank takes the advantage to jump forward, his right shoulder colliding against Matt’s chest and knocking him down on his back. 

They end up in a heap on the floor; Frank half straddling Matt as the latter shows his teeth like a rabid dog. “Hi, Red.” 

“Dickhead.” Matt growls, his knee bending and getting Frank on the gut. He rolls off, getting enough impulse to get back on his feet. Red does the same, head low as he studies Frank. “You came to my backyard to play?” 

“Just walking around the neighborhood, sunshine.” 

Matt scoffs. “If you want my attention so bad you can call.” 

“Thought you were more the passing notes type.” Frank says, smirking. “You left quite a message, Red.”  

“You did too.”

They measure each other up. Red posture tense as he turns his head towards the guy tied on the chair. “What are we gonna do about him?”
“Devil please!” The dude screams and Castle rolls his eyes.

“You know how it goes, hon,” Frank drawls.

“You ain’t gonna kill him.” 

“Why not?”

“You shall not murder?” Red tries.

“Really?”
“Ok. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.” Red says all of it like he’s talking about the weather and Frank feels his skin burning. “Is that better, sunshine ?” 

“Well, having in mind who the bible thinks is sexually immorals, I’m already in the flames, aren’t I?” 

“That 's not true. It’s just wrong translation.” Red says, smiling warmly. “And you know, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God who works in you both to will and to work, for his good pleasure.”

“Okay, okay, father, ain’t no need to give a sermon. You can call the cops on him.” After saying that he pulls the trigger, twice, both knees. Matt billy club hits his hand, a white sharp pain goes through him and he grunts. “Ey!”

“Dickhead!” Red screams, walking straight towards him, pushing him. 

They struggle for a moment, pulling at each other, Matt has a handful of Frank jacket. It’s good. It’s who they are at their lowest core. So, Frank can only smile like a wild animal, launching forward, his mouth colliding against Red. There's some blood in his lips from where Frank punches him and he tastes with a groan. Matt lets out a small choked sound, his tongue darting out and swiping over Frank’s lip. It’s harsh, messed up and Frank feels like he may go insane. So he pull away, his heart in pain from how fucking much he wants to kiss him again. How much he wants to clean Matt’s red lips and smear the blood all down his neck and stomach. 

Matt smirks, “Let’s go home.”

Sunday 7, october, 2023. 

On the seventh day he rose again. 

Frank wakes up groggy, groaning and reaching towards Matt’s side of the bed. His arms caught the man by the waist, the silk sheets clinging to his skin as he hauls his husband towards his chest. 

“I’m sleeping, Frank.” Matt's voice is always husky in the morning. 

“Mmm” Agrees Castle, pressing his morning wood against Matt’s tight. “Me too.” Matt chuckles, pressing back against Frank, which makes the other groan in appreciation, kissing Matthew’s shoulder and the nape of his neck, rasping his teeth a little bit. “Good morning, sunshine.” 

“Morning.” 

It’s sunday so Frank traps Matt under his body when he tries to get up to make breakfast. “Too early.” He decides and then get busy in convincing Matt on the many wonders of just staying the fuck inside of their bed. The arguments are very appealing, most of them deliver with his mouth and finger and eventually other things, like his hand gripping Matt’s hair as he fucks him hard enough to make him break a sweat in their freezing cold aparment. 

Eventually they are sticky enough that Matt whines until they get under the scalding hot water, Frank washing Matt’s body, still trailing kisses in Red’s colar bone and shoulders, the smell of that fucking expensive soap Matt buys filling every inch of the room. Frank lets himself be tame enough that Matt also washes his hair, the long bony fingers scraping at Frank’s scalp. 

It 's damn nice. 

He’s getting too spoiled. 

No that it’s a new development. 

Frank had meant it when he said all that crap to Karen. When you get someone that could tear you apart with some carving at your local church you better grab them with both hands and never let go. And he did just that. Granted, when he advised Karen he was thinking of a relationship where you get hit in the head with billy cubs at lot less but Frank was happy as things stand, even with the occasional domestic on top of a rooftop and in front of some scumbag. Matt still chews on his pills and Frank still winces about it. They are very much the same, only that no, they are completely different.

They had moved to Matt’s apartment and Frank spent a good part of the first year fixing it up. Which included a lot of “Why the fuck do you keep steps broken, Red? You have a dead wish. You know what don't answer that, I know you do.” And “How the hell did you break the window again?” or “Red for the love of god I know you are blind but fucking paint once in a while.” 

Less than a year in living together Frank came back home with a huge pitbull. Matt rubs his eyes and then sight. “I knew this was gonna happen but did you needed to get the biggest damn dog at the shelter?” 

Yes, Frank explained, of course he did. They call her Lucie and Matt pretended she was his guide dog to get her into places she definitely was not allowed to. Frank told him that was inmorral and Matt got her train just to prove a point. 

They got along great. 

They got married in spring two years in. Frank's idea. It was a small business where Danny cried and Jones got pissed off drunk, dancing with Curtis at some point. If you dare to mention that you could count on getting a broken bone. Frank learned that the hard way. They celebrated at Josie’s and drank for free. It wasn’t like his wedding with Maria, traditional and white dress walking down the aisle. For one Matt was wearing a red suit. Neither of them walked down the aisle. Or, well, both did, but in the same fashion you did whenever you walked into an empty church. Of course, the second they walked in Frank stopped Matt, his fingers squeezing the devils as he sank his other hand in the holy water, drawing a cross in Matthew's forehead. Matt did the same for him. A priest friend of Matt did the readings. Frank wasn’t sure how he felt about getting married in a church. Again. But Matt wanted so he went along with him. They engravated their rings in braille. Just initials. Franks gets the habit to feel them out whenever he’s nervous. M..M.M. And, then, there’s the fact that they did ended up fucking in the dirty bathroom at Josie’s, him holding onto the door while Matt pound into him, finish on his lower back which ends up in them laughing a little too drunk as they tried to clean the cum stain from his black suit jacket- they only managed to get it all wet, putting the whole thing under the faucet in the sink. All in all it was definitely less cozy than the hotel room Maria and he stayed on after their wedding. They both remain equally as beautiful in Frank’s mind. 

And Matt. 

Matt was damn gorgeous to Frank. 

Most Sundays they just did pretty much the same. Wake up, fuck, eat, take out the dog, buy food, eat, fuck, laze around and of course sunday mass at some point in between the fucking, walking Lucie and bickering. 

This sunday in particular Matt got out of the shower and made them breakfast. Lucie sat patiently near his feet, waiting for some stray bacon that eventually came. Frank watches them with a dumbass smile on his face. After enough years he should be getting better at this, but apparently he’s doomed. 

It happens minutes after. When Matt is bringing their coffee mugs towards the table where the plates filled with eggs and bacon awaits them. Red stops dead on his tracks, face going pale and impossibly pained, he drops both mugs and covers his ears. 

“Matt?” Frank says, rushing to his side. “Matt, baby, what’s wrong?”

Frank Castle knows fear. After all, he brought it down upon many people. He never felt it so real within himself as he does when Matt mutters. “They are back.”

“What?”

“They--” Matt gasp raggedly, shaking his head. “Frank. They are all back.”