Crash

7. IN WHICH FOGGY IS DETERMINED NOT TO CAVE

The sound of the front door shutting makes both Foggy and Karen fall silent, mid-sentence.

Frankly, Foggy is quite relieved at this development, because the argument had devolved into a lot of interrupting one another and, absurdly, literal finger-wagging on his part. Apparently when he’s angry he starts channeling his inner kindergarten teacher.

“Did Matt just leave?” Karen asks, whirling around and moving off down the hall.

“Yep,” Foggy says tiredly, not even bothering to check. “He just fucked right off. Sounds about right.”

“Matt!” Karen calls, opening the door and sticking her head out, but Foggy wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already out of the building. He throws himself down on the couch and puts his head in his hands.

“I think he stole Castle’s dog,” he says after a moment, when he realises how quiet the flat is.

Karen returns to the room and stands there in the doorway, staring at him. Foggy doesn’t look up. His head’s starting to ache. It’s not ‘cause he’s hungover. It’s because he’s been holding back tears for the last twenty minutes. God, he hates fighting with his friends. Like, do they realise that he doesn’t enjoy playing the role of the stick in the mud, the one who’s always gotta disagree with their big plans to save the world, the ever-interfering moral compass? ‘cause he doesn’t! It makes him feel like he’s the bad guy, like he’s just getting in their way.

It was one thing when it was just Matt.

Matt plus Karen plus Frank Castle? Look, Foggy’s only human, after all here!

“Why would he just leave?” Karen asks, voice soft and hurt. “We were in the middle of-”

“A giant fight, Karen,” Foggy finishes flatly. “You know Matt. For someone who’s made a career out of winning arguments, he sure hates talking things out with his friends. We’re lucky he used the front door and didn’t just jump out the damn window the second things got a bit heated in here.”

Karen doesn’t reply. Foggy still can’t bring himself to look at her. He heaves himself to his feet and motions towards the door.

“Bathroom,” he says flatly. “We’ll… we’ll finish this conversation in a minute.”

In the bathroom he spends fifteen minutes trying to calm the fuck down.

He turns the tap off and looks up at his face in the mirror. God, he looks exhausted. Things have been better lately, but it's still hard to sleep sometimes. He looks worn thin. He looks-

Angry, he realises. Eyes blazing, mouth set in a grim line. He looks pretty fucking done. And you know what the worst part is? The way the two of them keep being like, oh, Foggy, just calm down, just listen.

Like there's a rational explanation for all this.

Like they don't keep upping the stakes. Like it didn't start out as just stopping muggers in back-alleys at night and turned into global conspiracies full of supernatural ninjas. Like they haven't all nearly died about three times over (and that's excluding Matt, whose statistics read more like three times a night). So yes, guys, it's very fucking reassuring that Frank Castle's back in town. The same Frank Castle whose appearances tend to coincide with Hell's Kitchen's body count skyrocketing through the roof. Sorry, Karen, what was that, I couldn't hear you over all the fucking police sirens!

He grips the edge of the sink. Squeezes his eyes shut, inhales through his nose, exhales slowly. Thinks, don't freak out, just - work this out. Like you always do. 'cause in the end it does, always, seem to come down to him to be the calm one. He's just a bit sick of it. For once he'd sort of like to be the one that just - goes off the rails, that gets to do what he wants and fuck what anyone else thinks. Let them deal with it.

And the worst part is-

The worst part is that some stupid, naive part of him thought that it would actually stop with Fisk. That things would be different now, and an even stupider, more naive (dare he say romantic) part of him thought that with him and Karen being together, things would start to heal. Because they were healing. They were good together.

That's what hurts the most.

Call him old fashioned, but he's always thought when you're with someone - properly with them, when you love them, when you want things to be forever - you stand by their side. You turn into a team. That's one of the reasons he had to break things off with Marci - she deserved a relationship where there were no secrets, where both parties had each other's back one hundred percent. Towards the end she'd known something was up. Known things weren't fair.

So yeah, it hurts that Karen told Matt and not him about Castle. And it hurts that she took his side right away about taking the case. Like, thanks for the trust issues, guys, not like they weren't bad enough already.

That's the big problem.

It can't be just him-and-Karen against the world. Can't be just the two of them sorting their own shit out privately like a normal couple. Because they aren't a normal couple, nothing about this is normal-

Thanks, he realises grimly, to Matt. He's way too tangled up around the very bones of their relationship. To be fair, that isn't all Karen's fault, either. Even Foggy has to admit there's something kinda fucked about how, no matter how many times he keeps getting hurt, he still always gives in, comes running back to Matt's side, even if the other man tries to push him away.

What do you want, here? he thinks, and feels his heart hammer faster, feels the despair start to push in around the edges.

There's never gonna be total peace. You can try and convince Matt not to get involved in the big stuff. But as long as it affects Hell's Kitchen, he'll never listen.

Ultimatums didn't work. Trying to pull away didn't work. And he doesn't want that, anyway. He wants what they have now. Nelson, Murdock and Page. He wants honesty.

Frank Castle, he thinks, and his fingers clench around the edge of the sink. Should've fucking expected this. He hasn't thought about the man in ages and now, as he remembers back to their last encounters, his anxiety only intensifies.

Castle is dangerous, no matter how much Karen insists on his goodness at heart. Like do they not realise it's a bit hard to believe he's 'changed' when the first time Foggy hears about his return involves him killing half a dozen men? Also, what the fuck was Matt doing? Just standing there watching? Wasn't there a whole drama last time about Daredevil trying to stop him from doing shit like that?

But maybe... maybe, if he's honest, part of what's scaring him the most is that Karen and Frank are... God, he doesn't even know how to describe it. Just that he remembers how they connected during the lead up to the trial. How she was the only person he really opened up to. How she trusted him when no one else would. Not to mention that shit storm she got dragged into last time he was back in town.

The look in her eyes when he gets brought up...

He's not jealous. He's just - worried. And, in a turn of events he finds both embarrassing and upsetting, feels suddenly very, very alone.

It's stupid. He's got Karen, and Matt's his best friend, but - it feels suddenly like everyone's against him, like there isn't a damn person in his corner, and another lump rises in his throat. He swallows it down, takes a deep breath, and takes a final glance in the mirror. His hand comes up involuntarily to his shoulder; he reaches into his shirt and rubs it. Feels the rough, raised edges of the scar where the bullet passed through him. Another surge of anger, fear, resentment jolts through him. He swallows, hard, then whirls around and leaves the room.

Karen's waiting for him out in the living room. She's gotten changed out of her dressing gown into an old t-shirt and jeans, and she looks upset as she reaches out to him.

"Foggy," she starts, voice soft, and Foggy hesitates.

He’d been making a beeline for the front door. Now he turns, and bites his lip.

Karen looks so drained that for a moment all he wants to do is reach out and draw her into his arms. Her hair’s coming loose from its bun, hanging around her face, and her eyes are lined with the same dark shadows he’s seen on his own face. For a second she looks startlingly vulnerable. It’s hard to stay angry. He wants to tell her everything will be okay, that they’ll work this out together, that somehow things will be fine.

But he can’t.

He’s been burned too many times before; he can’t bring himself to just let this one slide. It feels like a strange, pivotal, sink-or-swim moment in their relationship. They’ll talk, eventually, but for now he can’t be here.

“I need some air,” he says, and hears how tight and strained his own voice is. “I just - need some space to think about this. About everything.”

Karen’s face crumples a little, but she draws herself up and nods.

“Okay,” she whispers. He turns to leave again and she moves forward and grasps his sleeve. “Foggy!”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” She sounds like she means it. “For not telling you about Frank. I… I guess some part of me knew you wouldn’t be happy and I… I didn’t want to fight.”

The apology is real, but for some reason it still sends a spark of annoyance through him. He’s not about to feel guilty for being mad about Castle.

“You know why I’m pissed off, right?” he asks, and her face falls a little further.

“Yeah, I… I know. I really thought today we could just talk through it. Matt said you’d be angry.”

“He knows me too well,” Foggy says, and something flickers in Karen’s eyes at that - something strange, something almost annoyed. Not at Foggy, not really, but it’s enough to make him curious. Still. “Bet he didn’t want to tell me about it.”

“He wanted to lie,” Karen admits, “Say the dog was his. I told him no.”

“Figures.” God, he is so, so tired. Like at this point he’s past being disappointed because he just expects this. From Mr Compulsive Liar Murdock, from Karen, from everyone.

It sucks, and only reinforces his need to get the hell out of here, and when he turns away this time Karen doesn’t stop him. He leaves the apartment, feeling sick and drained and just pretty fucking depressed because this is it, the good times couldn’t last after all, they always end up back here. Again and again and again.

He wants to make this work.

He wants to find a way through it or over it or whatever, but it’s just - complicated. Too many old wounds.

He needs to figure out what his place is - in all this. In the four of them who suddenly seem so thoroughly entangled together. It’s not just Foggy and Karen, now, Foggy and Matt. It’s Foggy-and-Karen-and-Matt-and-Frank. But one thing’s for sure.

He will not be on the outside looking in. He refuses.

He would rather leave entirely.

INTERLUDE: IT’S CALLED BEING ‘HANGRY’

“You have a boxer’s fracture,” Matt says.

On the other side of the couch, Frank lifts his head. They've been sitting in a relatively companionable silence for the last twenty minutes. The plan had been to drink, initially, but somehow they ended up eating instant noodles instead. It is remarkable how much better Matt feels after literally just having food. Turns out going over a day consuming nothing but liquids can make you feel like shit! Who'd've thought!

"What?" Frank grunts.

"Your hand." Matt nods in the general direction of Frank's arm. "It's swollen. Temperature's higher than the rest of your body. And I can hear the fractured bones."

"You can hear them?" Frank says incredulously.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Frank admits. He flexes his hand and sighs. "Should probably tape that up. I punched a wall."

"Sloppy punch if you hit those knuckles," Matt can't help chiding.

"Fuck off." There's no genuine anger in it, though. "Like you've never had one."

"Not for years. Maybe wear gloves next time you want to go around hitting an immovable object."

"Wouldn't be as dramatic," Frank says. He gets up, leaves the room for a moment. Comes back with a box that rattles, sounds like a med kit. Matt reaches out.

"Let me."

"I can do it myself," Frank says, sounding a bit strained, but Matt shakes his head.

"You can, but it's a bitch trying to work with just one hand. I've been there."

He's surprised Frank gives in, sighing and holding out his hand. Matt rummages through the box, feels out the right supplies. He takes Frank's hand in his, gently. It's large, warm, rough with callouses. He presses gently over the last two knuckles. Imagines there must be a myriad of sunset colours blossoming over the skin.

Things should probably be awkward. In the light of day, and now that they're both sobered up, the events of last night seem a bit like a distant, embarrassing dream. But since sitting down and eating, Frank seems to have calmed down a great deal - for now at least - and something about that has steadied Matt too. As long as Frank's pretending nothing's wrong, it's easier for him to, as well.

He's just finishing taping the other man's fingers when Frank shifts and his heart rate spikes a little.

"Murdock," he says, and Matt lifts his head to show he's listening. "Lemme ask you something."

Oh, God, where is this going? It seems like Frank's about to voluntarily turn the conversation personal, a thought so intensely disturbing Matt has to pause and actively stop himself from turning and fleeing out the front door. Is he about to bring up last night? 'cause Matt is nowhere near ready to discuss that in further detail. He'd thought they had a silent, manly understanding that they weren't gonna bring that shit up. Like, you don't mention the suicidal outburst and I won't say anything about the multiple homicides you committed. Win-win.

With immense effort he keeps his voice steady and asks, "What?"

"Karen know about last night?"

The words come out in a rush, something a little too invested, too vulnerable in them. Matt lets go of Frank's hand and leans back in his seat.

"Yeah," he replies, "About what you did? I told her that part."

"What'd she say?"

Frank's heart is still steady, but there's something deliberate and stilted to how calmly he's breathing. In, out. In, out.

"She was upset, but she wasn't angry. With you, anyway." He shifts, unsure how far he can push with this, then adds, "She knows you've had a rough go of it. I think she was just sad, more than anything, that it came to that. I told her you did it to help me out."

"What, so she was angry with you instead?" Frank asks, frowning. "Doesn't sound like her."

Shit. He's said too much.

"You don't want to know all about my drama," Matt mutters, but to his surprise Frank scoffs out a laugh, lounges back on the couch and swings his feet up onto the coffee table.

"C'mon, Red, don't leave me hanging here feeling like the only one that fucked up. You came in here, you might as well air your sorrows while you're around. Who else you gonna tell?"

Matt grits his teeth. There is something sort of faintly pathetic about the fact that Frank's right, he doesn't exactly have anyone else to talk to. Well, there is his mother, but things with Maggie are... weird lately. He knows he should go and see her more often, but somehow it feels like a step he's not quite ready to take. Like to go back there will make everything real; yes, she's still alive, and his father is still dead, and Father Lantom too. It's stupid. He doesn't know how to explain it, just that he's afraid now that all the Fisk business is said and done that the two of them won't know how to engage with one another.

"I told her Foggy would freak out if he heard you were back in town. She thought it'd be fine. I was right. I think she's pissed off that I was."

"Karen ain't petty like that," Frank starts, and Matt shakes his head.

"No, you don't get it - things are weird between the three of us. We're pretending they aren't, but they are. Since Foggy and Karen got together-"

Frank sits up so abruptly that Matt has to fight the instinct to shoot to his feet and bring his fists up.

"Wait, she and Nelson are..."

"Yeah?" Matt replies, cautiously. "They're dating. Have been for weeks now."

Frank's very quiet. He's not giving off much that Matt can read. Honestly, he hadn't given much thought to what sort of contact there was between Karen and Frank. Now he wonders how much, exactly, she's told him. How much they've seen each other since he first returned to town.

Not much, apparently.

"Things are - complicated. Really complicated." Matt looks down, hands twisting together in his lap. "Foggy and I knew each other the longest. We're - close. Really close. Then Foggy and Karen dated, but it didn't work out. Then she and I dated, and things got all fucked up - that was back when you first showed up in Hell's Kitchen. But back then, neither of them knew I was Daredevil. This is the first time since... since we all know everything. That two of us have been together."

"I see," Frank says, gruffly.

Matt swallows hard.

"I guess it was inevitable that things would get a bit messy. Not exactly normal, are we?"

"I mean, superpowers aside..." Frank drawls, and Matt huffs out a laugh. "That does sound complicated."

"Yeah."

There's a slightly awkward pause. Frank's facing him, but Matt's not sure where he's looking. He bites his lip, his earlier upset rising up again.

He hopes Foggy and Karen have made up by now, even if they're both pissed at him. That's the selfless thing to wish for, right? For his two closest friends to be happy, together? Even if he was (trying not to think too hard about the past-tense there) in love with Foggy, even if some days he still wakes up and misses...

Misses Claire, and Elektra, and Karen, too. Misses having someone to be close to.

But hey, it's for the best! He's too fucked up to even take care of himself, let alone someone else. Wouldn't be fair to them.

Frank rises, and Matt stiffens, lifting his head. The other man crosses the room, and as he passes his hand comes down on Matt's shoulder and jostles him - a rough, masculine, aborted gesture that happens so fast Matt doesn't really even have time to wonder about it. Next thing he knows Castle's already walked off, towards the kitchen.

"I think," he calls back towards Matt, "Now would be an appropriate time for that drink we mentioned, huh?"

Again, Matt finds himself laughing - startled, relieved, something a bit hysterical in it.

“Sounds good to me.”

7. IN WHICH FOGGY CAVES

Okay, so here we are.

Foggy wanted air, so now he’s pacing the streets of Hell’s Kitchen playing out all sorts of scenarios in his mind. On the plus side, he is getting so many steps on his fitbit. Unfortunately, none of said scenarios are at all feasible.

By ‘scenarios’ he really means fantasies. Fantasies that involve him marching back in there (in these imaginings, Matt has conveniently returned to Karen’s flat via the fire escape and the two of them are patiently waiting for him to return and will also patiently listen without interrupting) and really just giving them a piece of his mind!

Imaginary Foggy is a lot like Courtroom Foggy - in his element, and eloquent, and really fucking convincing. Imaginary Foggy lays out all the facts, tells them if Nelson, Murdock and Page is gonna work they gotta all stay on the same page which means if any one of them vetoes something, they gotta think up a compromise. Imaginary Foggy lays out all sorts of negotiations and manages to convince them to just pass on all Matt’s intel so far to Brett and then he conveniently deals with everything and they all learn a valuable lesson about not escalating the situation needlessly.

Yeah, right.

Like that’s gonna happen.

He knows, with a resigned inevitability, that there’s no way Matt’ll stay out of it. He might agree to, but then he’ll hear something happening halfway across the city and he won’t be able to stop himself rushing over there to make sure the baddies get beaten up and innocent citizens are whisked out of harm’s way.

Foggy knows this. Hell, he accepts this. And a small part of him loves Matt for it, just a bit, because as worried as he is - and as much as he hates that Matt thinks that should be on his shoulders - there’s something admirable about it, something that cuts through all the vigilante bullshit and makes him remember that, at heart, this all actually stems from Matt’s good intentions. From something very noble and heroic.

He falters to a stop and moves to the side of the foot path. Closes his eyes. Breathes in the smell of the city; the summer humidity, the exhaust of passing cars, the faint reek of garbage in a nearby alley. The sounds - blaring horns, distant sirens, the shuffle of passing shoes as pedestrians bustle by him, a street busker honking away on a sax around the corner. Hell's Kitchen seems to wrap itself around him like a blanket; familiar, almost comforting.

He thinks of Matt. Thinks of how much he loves this city. Can't deny that he feels the same thing - some sort of carnal loyalty to the place he grew up. It's the reason he's still practicing here, after all.

"God damn it," he whispers. He can feel his righteous resolve weakening.

It's just-

Just Matt and that fucking look he gets on his face. That stupid kicked-puppy look. Like he's trying his best even when everything's going wrong. No matter how pissed off Foggy gets at him, that face always makes him want to give him a hug, reassure him that you're doing great, bud.

He doesn't know what happened last night. Not really. He wasn't there, he barely trusts Matt's version of events, and sounds like the entire thing was a bit of a shit-storm either way - but what he does remember is how upset Matt looked this morning. He seemed worn-down in a way that went beyond just being hungover. It was...

It was the same sort of look he'd seen back when they were first taking down Fisk, when everything seemed hopeless, when they all seemed so alone. And again back when the Hand came along, when Stick got killed. It's a look that scares Foggy nearly more than seeing Matt get hurt.

The last two times he saw it, they'd been fighting. Hadn't been close. Hadn't had time to really talk things out before everything went to shit.

And he gets the impression, sometimes, that Matt thinks Foggy hates him, or at least is angry with him. Even now that they've made up, even now that they're working together. Just - something in the way he talks sometimes, or more in the way he doesn't talk. And it's shitty and it sucks because Foggy isn't, not at all. They're best friends, or they were, and it makes Foggy feel like everything isn't back to normal after all. Like they're still trapped in all the chaos and trauma that he wants to leave behind.

God, he just-

He misses uni sometimes. Misses when things were simple. Misses when it felt like the two of them were actually close, when he thought Matt actually trusted him.

Another lump rises in his throat. Yet again he feels like he's drowning alone. Like they're all drifting further and further apart, even though he thought the storm was over now, that they'd found safe harbour.

"Damn it," he whispers. "Damn it, damn it..."

He knows what he's gonna do.

He doesn’t like it, but there’s a strange, heavy sense of inevitability to it. Fighting feels harder than giving in and like he’s gonna lose anyway. He’s already taking out his phone to make the call.

Here we go, he thinks grimly, what could possibly go wrong?

At home Foggy throws his keys on the table, collapses onto the couch and puts his head in his hands.

His apartment feels too empty, too lonely. He has a missed call from Karen, but she didn’t leave a message. He doesn’t want to talk to her right now, and hates that he feels that way. The thought of walking into work tomorrow feels him with the sort of dread he hasn’t felt in years, not since that one bad internship back at uni.

After a moment he heaves himself up off the couch, grabs his laptop, and just straight up starts googling Frank Castle because why fucking not, today’s already a shitshow, might as well add some light online stalking to the mix.

There are no records of him after the last time shit went down and he was on the run. Must have some sort of new, fake identity, Foggy figures, otherwise the press would’ve been all over him the second he popped back up here.

He reads back through the old news articles, way back when the Punisher first appeared. Looks at the coverage of the court case. It would be nostalgic except it’s more like reliving an old nightmare, God, he remembers how fucking furious he’d been at Matt around that time. How terribly alone he’d felt back then, too.

Then he sits for a while just staring at a picture of Castle. His dark eyes, tired and haunted. The rough, broad features of his face. The faint lines of old scars. Unease stirs in the pit of his stomach.

He was there. He was right there in Karen’s flat last night. Right there with her and… and Matt…

God, how the hell is he okay with this?

Then again, he doesn’t know what Matt’s thinking half the time these days, and he pushes the laptop away with a groan.

Truth is, he’s fucking terrified. Because it’d been a whole thing, hadn’t it, making sure Matt didn’t kill anyone? Making sure he didn’t spiral down that path, even with Fisk?

Castle, on the other hand, kills someone as easy as looking at them. That’s not normal, can’t the two of them see that’s not normal? How can anyone who murders so many people, who takes life so easily as though it’s nothing, possibly be safe for them to be around? Not only that, he’s a bad influence, because Matt’s life is just one big ongoing existential crisis and it barely takes a nudge to send him spiralling into yet another moral dilemma, so. Forgive Foggy if he is not reassured that spending any amount of time around Castle isn’t a monumentally bad idea.

Stay away, he thinks, no matter what else we do, I gotta make sure they stay away from him. Both of them.

He already knows how well that’ll go down with Karen, and his stomach twists, and he just - hates this. He could scream, he could throw something, he hates everything about this. Normal couples don’t have ‘convince partner to stay away from mass murderer’ as a fucking problem.

He curls up on the couch, pulls his phone out. Looks back through his photos and feels fresh tears well in his eyes as he flicks back through the album. Shots of the two of them together - lying in bed, or out for a drink, or down by the harbour. A few of Karen - asleep on his couch, or framed in the early morning sunlight by their office window, or with her head thrown back and eyes closed, laughing, in the neon lights of Josie’s.

His heart clenches. He loves her. He knows then that he doesn’t want this to tear them apart, that he can’t, won’t let it.

What he needs is to protect what they have - protect it from this, from Castle and all the rest of it, from everything it’s sure to bring back to her. She deserves better, they both do. They deserve to be able to move away from this, to escape being constantly dragged back down into the dark.

INTERLUDE: PULL IT TOGETHER, FRANK

They’re two drinks in when Red’s phone starts blaring, monotonously: “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy.”

Frank stares at him from across the kitchen. Watches Matt’s lips tighten into a thin line, his throat bob as he knocks back the rest of his glass.

“You gonna get that,” he asks gruffly.

Matt shakes his head. They don’t say anything, just stand there for an entire excruciating sixty seconds not looking at each other while the phone goes “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy” and they both pretend he’s not completely fucking ignoring his best friend.

Not like Frank’s judging. After all, he smashed the shit out of his own phone this morning just to avoid Curtis’ call, so he ain’t one to talk.

“You have one new message,” the phone declares then, and Matt finally picks it up and puts it to his ear. Frank’s got no super senses, can’t hear the voicemail, but when Matt lowers the phone there’s a funny look on his face. Something all conflicted and guilty-like.

“Bad news?” Frank asks.

“Technically not,” Matt says, and reaches up to rub his face under his glasses. “He gave in. We’re taking the case like I asked.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Matt turns, grips the edge of the counter ‘til his knuckles go white.

“I think,” he says abruptly, “I’m slowly making him hate me and I don’t know how to stop.”

Frank stares at him. He doesn’t really know how to respond to that. Matt heaves a shaky breath.

“We’re meant to be rebuilding,” he continues, “I… I’m trying, or I thought I was, but then shit like this comes along and I just - don’t know how to deal with it. Keep somehow messing up and he pays the price every time. But I can’t just leave him out of it. He doesn’t want that either.”

“I don’t think Nelson hates you,” is all Frank can really come up with, based purely on the various things Karen has told him about them, because he really knows fuck-all about the two of them. As far as he was aware they were just his lawyers. But Matt shakes his head.

“You don’t know the half of what I’ve done to him. I’d hate me,” he says, something which Frank - who is starting to realise he’s spent far too much time around Curtis - finds profoundly telling. But he can’t think of anything really comforting to say, and after a second Matt turns and grabs his jacket from the back of the couch.

“I think I should go now,” he says, and Frank nods and goes to open the door.

This has been a weird, weird day.

He can’t believe it’s only been, what - five hours since he came home and had a total breakdown? He’s feeling way calmer now, but every now and then it pops into his head and gives him this guilty little shock. You slipped. You gave in. You killed six guys. Can’t just ignore that. And the dread comes crowding back in.

If he’s honest, he’s glad Matt showed up. It was nice - having a distraction. Just having someone else there. Knowing he’s not the only miserable bastard falling apart around here. Solidarity, or what fucking ever.

Now he watches Matt slink out the door - shoulders all hunched, cane tucked under his arm, and feels a sudden wave of something - not affection, not quite, but something close to empathy. Thinks of how he looked last night. Not like a hero vigilante but like all the soldiers Frank’s known who’ve just got back from war; beaten down, shell-shocked, head stuck somewhere else.

He grabs Matt’s arm before he really thinks about it.

“Murdock,” he hears himself say - Matt freezes, doesn’t turn towards him - “Take care of yourself.”

Matt lowers his head for a moment. Frank can feel him shaking. But after a moment he nods.

“You too, Frank,” he says quietly, and then slips away.

The door shuts. The apartment feels real quiet, and he slowly goes and sits down. Pi hops up on the couch next to him and Frank lets him rest his head on his lap. He finally picks up his phone and assesses the damage; it’s pretty bad, he needs to invest in one of those wallet cases. Whose bright fucking idea was it to get him an iPhone?

Still. The food, the conversation, has cleared his head. It’s easier to think now. He turns the phone over and over in his hands and thinks, you have a choice. Get better or get worse.

He thinks of Karen - his relief that she’s not angry, his guilt that she’s probably being way too understanding for her own good. Thinks about how even Matt didn’t come here and yell at him for fucking up. In the light of day, it’s a bit easier to see the bigger picture, beyond just that heated moment on the battlefield.

You have it in you not to kill, come on. You’re not an animal. Red’s right. Don’t throw this away.

And Karen - his thoughts keep circling back around to her. How she’d looked last night - broken, but brave - as she was telling him about her father he thinks he would’ve done anything in the world for her.

Karen and Nelson. He hadn’t expected that, and the thought makes something uneasy and jealous stir up in his gut. He swallows it down. Don’t be an idiot-

It’s not like you were even looking for anything, just-

There’d always been something special between them, he doesn’t know. He’d always vaguely had the idea that once he came back to Hell’s Kitchen they’d get close again. That it’d be different now that he wasn’t the Punisher. Maybe even something close to normal. They could just - hang out, get to know each other. See what happened. He’d never dared wish for anything, but it’d still been there - the hope for a clear sky on the horizon.

Looks like he blew that. And he knows he’s gotta be happy for her, because Karen deserves the best and Nelson is a good guy, and sure as hell a safer one than he is. But he thinks of the look on Matt’s face when he said it - Foggy and Karen are dating - something a bit hesitant, a bit hurt, and maybe the two of them are more similar than he thought. After all, Karen’s Matt’s ex, it’s gotta be weird. Although he seemed more worried about his relationship with Nelson right now, anyway.

Either way, Frank thinks grimly, people like the two of them are too broken for relationships anyway. They’re both as messed up as each other.

Still.

Matt and his Foggy crisis has done one thing at least - made Frank sure as hell appreciate his own best friend a bit more. Curtis ain’t ever made him scared he’d give up on him, and he bites his lip and starts dialing the other man’s number. Thinks, talk this through, get back on track, don’t throw this all away for nothing. And for once he actually feels something like resolve for it, and something like relief to think he knows what he wants.

7. IN WHICH FOGGY IMMEDIATELY REGRETS CAVING

The next morning, Foggy arrives at work to what can best be described as a situation of excruciating, unresolved awkwardness.

He rang Karen last night to tell her they were taking the case, but they didn't really talk things out. Better to do that in person. She asked to come over; he said no. He needs time - time to clear his head.

Time to figure out how to broach the Frank Castle topic. Because at the end of the day, he can't order her to do anything. Doesn't want to be that guy, to try and control her life. He just - needs to figure out how to articulate his concerns, how to make sure she understands exactly why he's so set against this.

Except now he's pretty sure she thinks he's really pissed at her, and when he walks in she looks up from the front desk and there's a very frozen pause.

"Hey," Foggy says, a bit helplessly.

"Hey." She rises, hesitantly, starts towards him, then stops. Foggy closes the distance between them, leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. It's a far cry from their usual warm greetings. She looks like she didn't sleep much last night; he didn't either.

"Is Matt in?" he asks.

She nods, looking over his shoulder. He turns to find Matt standing in the doorway to his office, and swallows hard. They haven't talked either, not since Matt's rather unceremonious departure yesterday. It’s hard to pretend he’s not hurt that Matt ignored his calls yesterday and didn’t bother messaging him back.

There is a very, very awkward silence. Neither Karen or Foggy are looking at each other. After a second, Karen grabs a file from her desk and walks over to Matt, nudging it against his hand.

"I called the police station this morning. His name's Lester Cunningham. Everything we know's in there."

"Thanks," Matt says. He tilts his head and Foggy gets the distinct impression that he's doing the equivalent of looking between the two of them, trying to figure out what's going on, except without actually moving his eyes.

Karen, it seems, has decided Matt is the lifeboat that will save her from drowning in the tension between her and her boyfriend; she's fussing with his suit jacket, tucking in a stray label and picking a bit of lint off his shoulder, avoiding having to turn back and look at Foggy.

"Have I not dressed myself properly?" Matt asks after a second, with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Karen's cheeks turn red and she steps back.

"No, you look good," she says, sheepishly.

Foggy stares at the two of them, a funny, tight feeling in his chest. There was just something so - comfortable and familiar about it. He just hates fighting with both of them, tells himself it's frustration that makes him want to walk up and-

And pull Karen away, or maybe pull Matt away, he's not quite sure, just - no more being the odd one out. He doesn't know how, given that he knew both Matt and Matt's secret first, he still keeps feeling like he's the one who's out of the loop when it comes to this shit.

Castle, he thinks grimly, they're both in with Castle and I'm not, that's why they're so buddy-buddy about all this.

That's not fair. He knows it's not like that, not really.  He's just pissy because he's nervous about today, and worked up over yesterday, and anxious about how they're gonna get through all this.

"Tie match the suit?" Matt asks then, when no one speaks for a long, painful minute.

"It's black. I think it'd match most things," Karen replies.

Having exhausted all commentary about Matt's outfit, there's another very strained pause before Foggy steps forward impatiently and takes the files, shoving them in his messenger bag.

"C'mon, Matt, let's go," he says.

Karen bites her lip. For a second he thinks she's gonna say something, but she doesn't. Something faintly guilty bites at his heart, but he figures they'll talk later on.

Matt takes his arm and they head downstairs, out onto the street and towards the police station. Foggy's stewing, trying to figure if maybe Karen's still angry at him. Matt keeps lifting his head like he's gonna say something, but seems to think better of it every time. Something about that pisses Foggy off, just a little; he wishes Matt would stop walking on eggshells around them. In a normal friendship, he figures, Matt'd just out and ask what was up with him and Karen. He has to be curious.

Eventually Foggy breaks the silence. He can't help himself; a bit cattily, he asks, "So how was Castle?"

He feels Matt shoulders stiffen where their arms are touching.

"What?"

"You brought his dog back yesterday, didn't you?" Foggy points out. "How was he?"

Matt’s quiet for a moment, and Foggy hopes he’s not cooking up a lie. Tries to ignore the pang of hurt that that’s the first thing his mind goes to.

“He was,” Matt says finally, “Surprisingly hospitable.”

What the fuck does that even mean? Foggy pulls a horrible face and something must give it away, because Matt comes to a stop on the side of the street, forcing Foggy to stop too.

“Fog.” There’s something quiet, earnest in it. “Do you trust my judgement?”

“I trust your ability to detect a lie,” Foggy informs him, “But I have some serious doubts about your decision making!”

At least Matt’s self aware, because that actually makes him huff out a little laugh. The sight of him smiling, no matter how small, makes something ease a little in Foggy’s chest.

“Fair enough. Well, from everything I can tell, I don’t think Castle killed those men last night for the hell of it. He really is trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“So why even go with you that night?” Foggy asks, a bit brokenly. Like legit, this entire situation is just breaking his brain slowly. And his heart, and his relationship with Karen.

“Because...” Matt hesitates. He’s got that look on his face like he knows what he wants to say but has to spend a minute working up the courage to get personal. Foggy softens a little; it’s... hard, sometimes, for all of them. To explain themselves, to be patient enough to listen and open enough to try and understand.

A crowd of tourists comes down the sidewalk; Foggy tugs Matt’s arm lightly to steer them both out of the way. The movement brings them closer together and he feels Matt’s chest heave as he sucks in a shaky breath.

“It’s hard sometimes. Getting out. Especially for someone like Castle who barely has anyone else. Back when I stopped being Daredevil, it... it wasn’t easy. There were some nights I just couldn’t stop myself going out there. I could tell, Foggy, he was nervous. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it. And in the end I’m glad he was there. He saved my life. Yeah, I wish he hadn’t killed them, but I could very well be dead if he wasn’t around.”

Well, shit. He hadn’t realised the situation got that dire, and it makes his heart skip another beat; he doesn’t like to think about it sometimes, how easily he could lose Matt. Especially because he knows already how much it hurts.

“Dude,” he manages, “You need body armour.”

Matt laughs again.

“Yeah, well you find me a guy who makes it and I’m happy to try.”

“At least a bulletproof vest. Even Castle was smart enough to have one of those.”

“Maybe.” They start walking again. Foggy wonders, if he asked Matt to help him keep Karen away from Castle, what would he say? Would he agree? Or would it be like yesterday all over again?

They’re nearing the police station when Matt, who’s been quiet and broody the last few blocks, pulls to a stop and says, so softly Foggy barely hears it, “Hey, also...”

“You okay? Also, maybe don’t stop right in the middle of the footpath.”

They move aside. Matt’s fiddling with the strap on his cane.

"I just," he says finally, "Wanted.... wanted to say sorry. For how things played out. I know you put up with a lot, and I- I appreciate it. I know I don't say it often enough. I don’t want to fight with you."

Foggy stares at him. Damn it - where's this coming from? There's something about the look on Matt's face that makes him think there's something he's missing. Something still unspoken between them. At some point, he knows, they needa just sit down and have a big, open chat, but there is approximately zero chance of Matt ever doing that. Foggy just needs to try find a new angle. If things are really different between them now, if they really are fine - you'd think they'd be able to talk.

For now, all he can do is take a deep breath.

"I know I get annoyed sometimes," he replies, softly, "But I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to all this. Thank you, though. It's fine."

Matt looks pained.

"If there was any other way to do this, I'd take it," he insists. "But after Fisk, I just - I can't trust anyone else to do this. He bought out so many people. Even in-"

He breaks off. There's a haunted note to his voice that Foggy doesn't like. Sometimes he wonders what all the other things Matt isn't telling him are - not the big secrets, the ones that affect all of them, but the little ones he's carrying around. The things he's seen on the streets, the things that've happened to him, the blood he's shed that no one else sees in the dark. Things he doesn't want to talk about and Foggy's scared to dredge up.

He reaches out and squeezes Matt's shoulder.

"We'll deal with it," he says firmly, "Together. C'mon."

Whatever Matt hears in his heartbeat must tell him Foggy means it; his lips twitch up a little. Foggy's just happy to see him smile again. Matt takes his arm again, and they head inside together.

Lester Cunningham is a small, weaselly little man with a big nose and huge, watery eyes. He's jittery, shifting in his chair like he's sitting on hot coals, with dark shadows under his eyes. His skin is waxy and pallid, his hair sticking to his forehead in greasy curls.

He's being charged with manufacturing and distributing drugs. It's his first offence - otherwise, he's a well-respected chemistry professor at a local community college.

Foggy doesn't need superpowers to tell he's shitting himself. For the last thirty minutes his gaze has been darting between the two of them, licking his lips nervously, flinching at every sudden movement or raised voice. They've been wearing him down slowly - gently - trying to coax out of him why he was with those guys in the first place, but he's been surprisingly close-lipped, insisting no one can help him, that he brought this on himself, that he doesn't want to take a deal, that whatever punishment society doles out, he'll accept.

He’s been getting steadily shakier since Matt started asking if there’s someone he’s trying to protect from the gang, someone they’re holding over him. A girl, Foggy remembers Matt telling him earlier. Lester’s near breaking point - staring down at the table, fists clenched.

“Whatever you say to us,” Matt says then, “It doesn’t leave this room. You don’t have to be afraid, not with the two of us. Attorney-client privilege. If we know the facts, we can help you. Whoever they are - we can work with you to protect them. We have connections. The Hellhounds won’t touch them-”

“You don’t understand!” Lester blurts out.

It’s the loudest he’s spoken all afternoon. He looks up, eyes wide and frantic now.

“You can’t help me,” he continues, hysterically, “No one can. You… you don’t know how big they are. What they’ll do to anyone who spills. I’m not safe, not even here. They have people everywhere, eyes everywhere. Not just in the streets. In the schools, the hospitals, the police. Every time they absorb another gang they get hold of all their contacts too. The second they started to gain ground, it was over. They don’t just wanna sell drugs here, they want to run Hell’s Kitchen. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop them because the second you end up on their radar, they find what you love most and get a hold of it-”

His voice breaks. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

Foggy can barely move. He thinks Matt must be able to hear his heart hammering too. It’s stressful - that’s a fucking understatement - but he forces himself to keep breathing calmly - in, out, in, out - because he’s thinking, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way that a gang of dealers who were barely on the police radar until two months ago have gained that much power in so little time.

Fisk was a slow burn. Fisk had a plan in place for years. He stacked all the dominos so he could send them tumbling down later on.

These guys… it’s more likely they’re giving the illusion of power. It doesn’t matter how tough you really are - just how tough people think you are. That’s part of why Matt wore the suit, right? A symbol. Something to scare people.

Or at least, that’s what Foggy would like to believe, because the alternative - that somehow this has been brewing for ages and now it’s too damn late to stop - it’s too much for him to handle at the moment.

He turns to Matt, hoping he’s got a way to play this, only to freeze. Matt’s staring straight ahead, mouth pulled into a tight line. He’s not even pretending to look in their client’s direction, and under the table his fingers are digging into his own leg. He doesn’t speak, and after a minute Foggy jumps in and takes over.

“Mr Cunningham, I know you’re scared, but it’s very clear you’re being threatened here. Give us something, anything, that can help you in court and-”

“You don’t get it,” Lester says brokenly, “I don’t want to go to court. I’m guilty. I want to go to jail. It’s marginally safer in there than out here.”

“If they have that many people held hostage,” Foggy tries to say, reasonably, “They must have somewhere they’re keeping them all. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t that big. There isn’t some big underground dungeon they could be using-”

Something flickers in Lester’s face. Even Foggy catches it. Then he takes a deep breath and seems to deliberately calm himself down.

“They’ve infested this city like rats,” Lester says miserably, “They have free run of the place. They have more ground than you think, people just don’t know they’re-”

He breaks off, looking horrified.

“I said too much. He’ll know somehow, he always does. Please, just - leave me alone. I don’t want lawyers, I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

He does start crying then - curled in on himself, little shuddering sobs. Matt stands abruptly and Foggy looks up at him.

“We’re done here,” he says abruptly, and power-walks so fast out of the room that he barely uses his cane. Foggy stares - then quickly starts packing up, shoving all their papers away and hurrying after him.

“Matt!” he calls. He gets out of the interrogation room, nearly crashing into two police officers. They exchange a rather stunned look before he turns just in time to see Matt vanishing down the hall and into the bathroom.

Foggy hurries in after him. He’s careful to shut the door behind him, then he turns and freezes.

Matt’s standing, hands braced against the sink, shoulders hunched and head hanging down low. He’s breathing so fast that even from here Foggy can see his shoulders rising, falling, rising, falling, faster and faster.

“Matt?” he says tentatively, stepping towards him.

Matt doesn’t look up. When Foggy reaches towards him, he flinches and one arm shoots up; their forearms knock together and Foggy pulls back.

“Sorry,” he blurts out, “Sorry-”

His heart’s pounding. He feels - sick, and helpless, doesn’t know what to do here. And thing is, for the last few years Matt’s default state of being ranges from ‘mildly stressed’ to ‘falling the fuck apart’, but he always pretends he’s fine. So it’s pretty terrifying, now, to see him so clearly freaking out.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, “It’s not you, sorry, I just can’t-”

“Can I touch you?” Foggy asks. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Matt doesn’t answer, and after a second Foggy inches a bit closer.

He’s had enough panic attacks himself to know what one looks like. Matt’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his scarred knuckles are clenched so tightly around the edge of the sink that they’ve turned white. After a second he reaches up and loosens his tie, then undoes the top button of his shirt.

“Matt?” Foggy forces his voice to remain firm and calm. “Gotta slow down, buddy. Focus on my breathing, yeah?”

He puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder - slowly, carefully - and isn’t knocked back this time. Closing his own eyes, he focuses on breathing in and out - slowly, exaggerated, really channeling his inner Darth Vader. He’s sure Matt must be able to tell that his heart’s beating out of control anyway, but hopes he can somehow tune that out.

“In,” he guides, slowly. He hides his own panic about the situation by aiming for a tone somewhere in the vicinity of ‘yoga instructor’. “Out. That’s right. In… hold it… and out, slowly now. That’s it, you’re doing amazing. In… hold it...”

He feels himself start to calm down as well. This is what he’s good at, after all. Holding it the fuck together while trying to stop everyone else around him just going totally ballistic. As he watches, Matt’s breathing slows. He stops trembling so much under Foggy’s touch. His head’s still lowered, and Foggy wishes he could see the other man’s face, but after a while he thinks the worst of it’s passed. He stops counting. Runs his hand soothingly over Matt’s back.

Finally, Matt clears his throat. The sound echoes around the small bathroom.

“Thanks, Foggy,” he whispers. Foggy has to lean in to hear. “I’m okay.”

Foggy raises his eyebrows. He knows that feeling - the crushing dread, the throat closing up - Matt’s never said anything about panic attacks before, but given what he knows about Karen, given what all of them have been through, he’d be surprised if that was the first time.

“Take a second,” he suggests.

Matt nods. He takes off his glasses and splashes his face with water. In the split second before he puts them back on, Foggy catches a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror - wide, haunted - for a second he looks so fucking young.

Finally he takes a step back, fumbling for his cane, which is leaning against the wall of the nearest stall. There’s a very awkward moment in which Foggy realises, upsettingly, that Matt’s clenched jaw is screaming that he’s embarrassed.

“The counting helps,” he supplies, “My therapist taught me that.”

That doesn’t seem to help. Matt turns his head away a little.

“It’s stupid,” he begins, and Foggy jumps in real quick to shut that down.

“No, it isn’t,” he says fiercely, “You know how many nights me and Karen wake each other up with some sort of freak out? We’re human, Matt, I’d be more worried if the shit we’ve been through didn’t affect us.”

Matt nods, but Foggy knows him well enough to tell it’s that particular ‘I hear ya but I’m not actually listening’ nod. He steps closer.

“What was it?” he prompts. “That guy…”

“The Hellhounds,” Matt blurts out. And shit, he must really be rattled, because Foggy was expecting him to refuse to talk about what caused him to freak out at all, “Lester wasn’t lying. He… he really is that scared of them. Everything he said… they’re the next Fisk. It’s happening all over again. They’ve got people everywhere and- and when we go after them…”

He trails off, but Foggy knows where he’s going with that.

It’ll be like last time. Foiled at every turn. There’ll be casualties.

And the thing is…. the thing is, he knows Matt’s just as human as the rest of them, but Foggy’s rarely ever seen him in action as Daredevil. It’s mostly been grainy security cam footage on the news. The way Matt’s done things - so secretively, so Lone Wolf - it’s made it seem like Daredevil’s this other, dark entity, something consuming, something that wants to be out there in the dark-

So it’s unsettling to realise that Matt’s scared. That he’s fucking terrified about this new threat, that contrary to what Foggy’s sort of vaguely thought, he doesn’t actually want to be out there. Not now. Not against this.

Foggy takes a deep breath. Keeps his voice steady. Thinks, if we both freak out, this isn’t gonna go well.

And it kind of kills him to do it, because the last time he handed Matt the suit he didn’t sleep for months afterwards, convinced he’d been the one who killed his best friend-

But he steps forward and puts his hands on Matt’s shoulders.

“Lester wasn’t lying, because he believed what he was saying,” he says firmly, “But that doesn’t mean it’s true. Look, Matt, there’s no way a gang of meth dealers got that big so quickly without you or anyone else noticing. You’ve been after them since they popped up! They’re talking a big talk, that’s all. I’m not saying underestimate them, not at all, but you’re not alone in this. And after all those corrupt agents got cleaned out after Fisk, there’s no way they’ve infiltrated all of law enforcement.”

Matt bites his lip; doesn’t answer.

“You’re not dealing with this alone,” Foggy continues. “We’ll sort this out. We’ll do it carefully, together. We’ll work everything out. Take it one step at a time.”

Matt finally nods. After a second - and to Foggy’s shock, quite honestly - he leans forward, and drops his head down to rest it against Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy freezes - then shifts a little, and wraps his arms around Matt instead, holds him close.

It’s rare that Matt will reach out like this. Foggy’s usually the tactile one, and even then they haven’t been as touchy recently as they were years ago, back when everything was normal. A wave of emotions passes through him, nearly sweeping him off his feet. Shock - relief - affection - all of them close to overwhelming.

“Thanks,” Matt whispers, and Foggy hugs him closer. When they pull apart, just a little, there’s a strange look on Matt’s face. He swallows hard, opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something-

The bathroom door swings open. Both of them jump hard, and a police officer sweeps in. He gives the two of them a very strange look, then a sort of macho nod, and then goes to the urinal and starts pissing.

Foggy glances at Matt and has to bite back a swell of hysterical laughter. Whatever Matt was about to say, the moment’s been ruined. He offers Matt his arm.

“C’mon.”

They stand out in the police station car park, discussing the case. Matt’s still subdued; Foggy sticks close to his side. He feels a bit out of it - weirdly floaty, weirdly calm, like he’s gone into this headspace of being the one with it all pulled together. Feels like if he gets too worked up about any of this then it’ll push Matt over the edge again.

“He didn’t give much away,” Foggy says.

“If you read between the lines, he did,” Matt replies. “His heart sped up when you mentioned an underground dungeon. Between that and the metaphor about rats…”

“Their bases are underground,” Foggy says. “Subway tunnels? Again?”

“Since the Hand moved out, I guess someone else could move in,” Matt says grimly. Foggy bites his lip.

That whole Hand business was just as bad as everything that went on with Fisk. He doesn’t like the look on Matt’s face.

“Well,” he manages, “Don’t rush into anything. Let’s do more recon first. Confirm that’s where their bases are and Karen and I can start looking into the connections these guys actually have. We have the names of everyone the police brought in last night. We can start digging into which civilians they’ve been in touch with. Start mapping out how many of them there actually are.”

Matt nods. It’s a start, but he doesn’t look happy, and Foggy feels a growing unease.

“Let’s get back to the firm,” he says. “Tell Karen how it all went.”

Matt nods. He extends his cane and Foggy pats him on the shoulder.

“You go on ahead,” he says, “I gotta go tell Brett this guy doesn't want us representing him.”

It’s not a lie - but it’s technically a half-truth, and he sees Matt hesitate and wonders if he’ll call him out on it. But after a second Matt nods and starts tapping his way down the footpath.

Probably wants some alone time too, Foggy thinks.

He waits until Matt is out of sight. Then he walks around the back of the police station, takes a deep breath-

And practically doubles over, the wind gone out of him, hands braced against his knees, trembling.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Okay.

It was an effort to hold it all together. To stand there and calm Matt down and see how fucking freaked he was and not think, if Daredevil doesn’t think he can deal with this, we’re probably all completely fucked.

With every word Cunningham said Foggy was just - desperately compartmentalising. Telling himself it’s not all true and we’re gonna deal with this and trying steadfastly not to think about the fact that it’s happening again, just like I thought, just like Matt thinks-

Another big threat to the city. Another mess they’re gonna get dragged into. Another chance that any of them, all of them, could get seriously hurt and die.

Like, break’s over, guys. Back to fighting a war you never wanted to be a part of.

He’s fucking terrified. The scar on his shoulder throbs, a phantom ache, and his own breath starts coming hard and fast. He tries to count, but he can’t focus. It all comes spilling out, everything he swallowed down for the last forty minutes, telling himself furiously, not in front of Matt. Not in front of Matt.

He’s terrified, and hates that Matt is scared too, that all of them are clearly so very not ready for this. Fisk has been put away for months and they’re still unprepared. They needed longer - to prepare, to heal, to ease back into this-

And the truth is, for all his fine words, he doesn’t know if they can do this. Not because he thinks the Hellhounds are that powerful, that’s not even it.

He just thinks none of them are ready. That they’ll shatter under the weight of this. He just doesn’t know who’ll give first - him, or Karen, or Matt - the fact that every one of them is a likely candidate is also not reassuring.

We shouldn’t have gotten involved in this.

But it’s too late now. He stands there and tries to calm down and fumbles into his pocket, pulls out his phone, pulls up Karen’s contact details-

And then hesitates.

She’s been his anchor lately, his first port of call. But suddenly it all feels very fragile. Suddenly he’s not sure what’s going through her head. Suddenly, he can’t bring himself to look weak in front of her.

They need to talk first. They need to sort all this out.

And maybe there’s something a little self-destructive in it - or maybe it’s some stupid, desperate need to prove that he doesn’t need help, that he’s strong too…

Or maybe it’s just petty. Maybe he just wants to pull a Matt and wall himself off and think fine then, I’ll be on my own.

He turns off his phone, and puts it back in his pocket, and slides down with his back to the wall until he’s sitting on the ground, breathing in, out, in, out, feeling desperately alone, trying not to drown.