Crash

10. MATT TURNS FROM SAINT INTO THE SEA

Matt leaves Mrs Cunningham’s house via the back door, hops a fence, goes around the corner into an alley, and leans over the nearest dumpster trying not to throw up.

It’s a warm night and the black mask over his face suddenly feels stifling. Nothing comes up, and he spits out a mouthful of sour saliva before turning away. His heart’s pounding, and he braces his hands on his knees.

In, he remembers Foggy saying, his voice steady and calm. Out. That’s right. In, hold it. Out.

This is so stupid.

It’s not like anything actually happened.

It was just - the way she grabbed him, right before he left, and pulled him into a tight hug. He could feel her frail body shaking, and for a second it had reminded him so much of Maggie that he’d frozen up.

“Thank you, Daredevil,” she’d whispered, fervently, almost as though it was a prayer. “I know you’ll save him. I know you’ll find a way to make this all right.”

Jesus Christ. He leans back against the wall of the alley, tilts his head back, swallows hard. She’d meant it to be reassuring, but it’d put the pressure on and freaked him out and now-

Now there’s a lot left to do tonight, and he’s all rattled. Talking to Mrs Cunningham was the easy part. He can’t lose his nerve. He takes another second to stop his hands shaking before he pulls out his phone.

You don’t have to call him.

He doesn’t have to, but he should, and he swallows hard and tries to tell himself he’s not nervous, it’s just that he’s been generally shaky lately. He shouldn’t be nervous to talk to his best friend. That would be - pathetic and fucked up.

He dials before he can second-guess himself. When the phone picks up, Foggy’s voice is bleary with sleep, and Matt realises with a guilty pang that it’s, like, half past one in the morning.

“Matt? You okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, hard. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to wake you.”

“S’okay. What is it?”

“I just spoke to Mrs Cunningham. They threatened her and Lester both. She gave me a lead that I’m about to go follow up. When they first grabbed them, they knocked her out and bagged her to take her and Lester to a warehouse. She woke up on the drive there and overheard a conversation. I’ve got a meeting point and a time - three a.m. - where they make a routine drop.”

“Okay,” Foggy replies, “Sounds like a plan. Is she safe?”

“I gave her Brett’s number, told her she could trust him.” He bites his lip, takes a deep breath. “There’s - there’s one other thing.”

“What?” Foggy asks, gently.

“You wanted to be in the loop, right?”

“Yeah.” He hears the shift and rustle of sheets. “Of course.”

“You won’t like this.”

There’s a pause. He can hear Foggy breathing, heavily.

“What is it, Matt?”

“Frank Castle offered his help today. Said we’d do things my way. I… I don’t think he can sit on the sidelines any more than I can. I believe him when he says he’s gonna try not to kill anyone. So I’m gonna bring him along tonight. I thought you’d rather know than not.”

There’s a long silence - so silent that he knows Foggy’s moved the phone away so the mic won’t pick up anything in his breathing. Matt waits, heart pounding. He’ll readily admit he’s enough of a coward that he’s glad they’re not having this conversation in person.

Finally Foggy clears his throat.

“Okay,” he says, voice rather strangled. “Okay. First of all. Why the hell do you want Castle in on this?”

Matt swallows hard. His free hand is shaking and he shoves it into his pocket in an attempt to make it stop. He doesn’t know what to say, because the truth is-

The truth is, Foggy, I could’ve died the other night if Castle wasn’t there, and it would’ve been my own fucking fault, and I don’t know if it’ll happen again, and I can’t even trust myself anymore.

The truth is, I’m scared and I don’t want to be alone.

“I think I might need back up,” he says. It’s not a lie. Just very careful phrasing. “I don’t know how many of the Hounds will be there. And the meeting point’s outside of Hell’s Kitchen. I can’t get there on foot in time.”

“I can drive you.”

“No,” he snaps, “I’m not putting you in any more danger than I have already. Besides, Castle lives close to here. Look, I promise I won’t let things escalate.”

He hears something in the background - shifting, murmuring - then Karen’s voice, tinny and distant, asking, “Is that Matt?”

“Yeah,” Foggy replies. “He’s fine. Just updating me on the Hellhounds stuff.”

Something happens then, something Matt can’t explain. He doesn’t know why it’s now, of all moments, that it strikes him, just-

The thought of Foggy and Karen sitting in bed, warm under the sheets, knees probably touching. Safe, together, close...

Maybe it’s because it’s half past one and the rest of the night is still stretching dark ahead of him and he knows he won’t be home until dawn. Maybe it’s because lately the city streets at night somehow seem far colder and lonelier than they ever have before, making Hell’s Kitchen feel less like home and more like a haunted house.

For a moment, he feels a pang of intense, ugly, fist-to-the-throat jealousy.

It hits him like a slap in the face. He hates himself for it as soon as he has time to process it. The worst part is how fucking multilayered it is.

He’s jealous of Foggy for having Karen there beside him, for being the one to get her lying next to him at night, soothing the nightmares away. Her soft hair against his cheek, her gentle hand on his shoulder, or pressed to his chest over his heart.

He’s jealous of Karen for getting to be there right now with Foggy in person, to have his steady, anchoring presence. Jealous that in a second she’ll be the one he tucks his warm arm around, who gets a kiss on the forehead, who he’ll probably spill all his worries and fears about Matt to. To be curled up next to him, fall asleep in his arms - everything he’s wanted since college.

And he’s jealous of both of them for not having to be out here tonight. That’s the most nonsensical of all, because it’s not like they haven’t pulled all nighters themselves, it’s not like they haven’t all been hurt-

It’s not like he didn’t choose this.

Stupid, he tells himself, stupid, stupid, stupid - they’re your best friends. Don’t be like that.

It’s pathetic. It’s childish. It’s unfair of him.

But he can’t help it. He bites his lip until he tastes blood. When Foggy speaks again, it takes Matt a second to focus.

“Look… you’re right, I don’t like it. But I also don’t like the thought of you going into this alone. You trusted me to tell me what you’re planning, so - I’ll trust you to know what you’re doing. To stop him if he gets out of control.”

“I will,” Matt says, “I promise.”

“Okay.” Foggy still doesn’t sound happy about it, but he doesn’t sound angry, and they’re not having a screaming match, so. It could be worse. “Be careful, Matt. Stay safe.”

“I’ll try.”

He hangs up. Closes his eyes for a moment and tries to ignore the way his stomach’s twisting itself in knots. Waits for the feeling to pass. It doesn’t.

He’d thought he learned a long time ago all the different ways there are to be lonely. Apparently not.

But there’s nothing he can do about it, except take a deep breath and suck it up and accept this, and turn and head once more into the night.

“It’s two a.m.,” Frank grunts, opening the door. He’s warm from sleep and there’s a gun stuck down the back of his pajama pants.

“Vigilante justice is a nocturnal venture,” Matt informs him, and pushes past him into the flat. He fills Frank in on the details while the other man gets dressed and Pi runs between each of them dropping a very soggy tennis ball hopefully at their feet.

“You need a mask,” he says, when Frank finishes strapping on a bullet-proof vest. He hears him grab something from a drawer and pull it over his face. He reaches in the bottom drawer and Matt stiffens. “Don’t bring a gun.”

“Plenty of ways to shoot a guy without killing him,” Frank says, but his heart rate’s quickened. “What if we just bring it to threaten someone with?”

“If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee-”

“Alright, I get it. We’ll avoid the temptation.” He slams the drawer shut. “Also, new rule, no quoting bible verses. What about a taser? That acceptable?”

“Taser’s fine,” Matt allows, and Frank rummages around a bit more before moving towards him.

“Let’s go then.”

He can tell Frank’s nervous. Most people wouldn’t know it; he’s not shaking, and his breathing’s steady, and there’s no hesitation in his movements. But his heart is beating just fractionally faster than normal.

As for Matt, he’s the opposite. He’s calmed down since he arrived at Frank’s flat. It’s - almost disconcerting how just having someone else there, with him, has seemed to make everything shift back into focus. Part of him feels weak for not being able to stand alone. The other part is just relieved that things feel more in control.

“So Daredevil doesn’t have a Devilmobile?” Frank grunts, as he sets the GPS and they head off.

“Yeah, I just take a guess at the street signs and what colour the traffic lights are,” Matt replies, flatly. “Got a one in three chance of getting it right. I mean, there’s worse odds to bet your life on.”

“Sorry,” Frank says, “Figured since you can run around you could maybe drive.”

“The super-senses don’t extend that far. And anything printed or involving a computer screen tends to fuck me over.”

“Noted.”

They drive mostly in silence. It’s not too bad. Matt leans his head against the window and lets his mind drift for a bit. It’s actually nice, getting driven somewhere for once. Usually night patrols stretch him thin, because he spends the entire time with his senses on overdrive making sure he can run around with running into a wall, not to mention focusing on the five different things that are generally flying in his direction during a fight. It wears him down way faster than you’d think. So it’s nice to switch off for a bit, to let himself focus on the thrum of the engine and Frank’s steady heartbeat next to him.

Eventually his mind turns to Karen and Foggy. The knife twists. He thinks of the supermarket, thinks of what he told Frank.

If he’s honest - it was a relief to admit to someone his feelings for Foggy. Those have been stewing for so long that just getting it out in the open was a bit like yanking a splinter. Was it embarrassing? Sure. But you gotta acknowledge shit before you can get over it, right?

Get over it. That’s optimistic.

And then, he thinks, Frank and Karen…

The thing is, he can imagine it. If Karen wasn’t dating Foggy he would not be surprised if she’d started going out with Castle when he arrived back in Hell’s Kitchen. They’ve always had a strong connection, and they’re clearly attracted to each other, and they have the same sort of tragedy in their past that means their darkness won’t scare each other off. They would be a good match.

In another life, he thinks, and then shakes himself. It’s not the time or place to be thinking about this.

“We’re close,” Frank grunts, and the car pulls to the side of the road. “Not much cover around here. Let’s go the rest of the way on foot.”

Matt nods. They get out.

“What time is it?” he asks.

Frank checks his phone.

“About quarter to. Jesus, it’s dark out here.”

"Good," Matt says. They inch forward, out of the cover of the trees. Frank's sticking close behind him.

There are no streetlights out here, the typical electric hum of the city replaced instead by the rustle of wind in the trees and the distant, ringing song of cicadas. Up ahead there's a bridge; he can sense it, a solid stone structure with a damp, echoing space beneath. It once spanned a river that's now long since dried up, leaving a wide, muddy track beneath it. Another road leads away from the opposite side of the bridge, and parked there is a car. He can hear the hum of the engine and a single heartbeat inside.

"There's just one guy," he murmurs to Frank, as they slip towards the bridge. He moves where Frank's moving; across an open space that he figures must be shadowy enough they can't be seen, wearing black as they are. "He's waiting for someone."

Frank hums. They reach the bridge and dart into the darkness beneath it. It's cold under here, and smells like mildew and rot. Matt crouches and presses a hand to the ground.

"Someone's coming," he says. "Another car, along the road. The other guy's getting out to meet them."

Frank nods. He's silent, letting Matt do his thing, but one hand at the taser on his belt, reading to spring into action if need be. Under the cold haunches of the bridge his body's radiating heat like a beacon.

Car doors slam shut. Five men get out. The one guy from the Hounds meets them - young and fit, Matt can tell, from the way he moves. Confident, despite being alone - his heartbeat steady, something almost bored to his voice. The cold metal of a gun resting in the back of his jeans.

They exchange few words. Delivery as usual, it seems. The men pass over a package and receive a heavy duffel bag in return. The way it shifts sounds like money. They get in the car and leave again. The Hellhound leans against the hood of his car, pulls out his phone and starts texting.

"Well?" Frank hisses. He must've heard the car leaving. "Whatcha get?"

"Pretty standard drug deal. Give them a minute to get far away then we'll question this guy."

Matt stands, cracks his knuckles. He can feel Frank staring at him.

"What?"

"Just curious what your questioning tactics are gonna involve," Frank says, voice carefully measured.

"I'm not a saint. Just because I don't like to kill people doesn't mean I don't spend my evenings beating the shit out of them. I'll take the lead," he adds hurriedly, before Castle can start getting any ideas.

Frank nods. He sweeps a hand out invitingly and Matt swats irritably at him before ducking out of the bridge and moving up behind the guy as he finishes texting and moves to get in the car.

Matt moves fast. All the guy probably sees is a shadow in the corner of his eye. He barely has time to spin around before Matt's grabbing his wrist to stop him going for the gun, hooking his free hand around the back of his neck and yanking him down to drive a knee up into his stomach. The guy doubles over, gagging, and Matt knees him a second time before swinging an elbow around to smash it across his face. The man stumbles, dazed, and Matt backs him up against the car, reaching around to grab the gun. He flings it aside and Castle, close behind him, catches it and shoves it into his own belt.

"Who the fuck-"

The guy struggles. He's small, wiry, and manages to land one blow on Matt's shoulder - barely hard enough to hurt - before Matt punches him across the face, two jabs to the jaw followed by a solid right hook that sends him reeling. He lands across the hood of the car and Matt grabs his arm and twists it up behind his back, drawing a shriek of pain. The guy twists to look over his shoulder. Matt's not sure what sort of light they're in - but he hears the guy's heart rate quicken.

"Daredevil," he breathes, and then, horrified, "And... what the fuck are you?"

From the tone of his voice, Matt is suddenly very curious about Frank's mask.

"Daredevil's intern," Frank supplies, and Matt blinks a few times. Castle's sense of humour seems to pop up when he least expects it.

"We have some questions," Matt snaps.

"Go fuck yourself," the guy spits, then yelps when Matt twists his arm higher up behind his back - the joint straining, on the brink of dislocating.

"I think you have answers we need about the Hellhounds."

"You can think again. I'm not saying shit-"

He breaks off as Matt slams his face down against the hood of the car; his nose snaps and the air fills with the coppery tang of blood. The guy gives a low moan. His heart is racing. He kicks back at Matt, struggling weakly, and Frank moves in and grabs the back of his neck, holding him still.

"Start talking any time," Matt says, and dislocates his shoulder. There's a muffled scream. Frank's own heart rate spikes a little, and Matt turns his head towards him, but he doesn't look back at him.

"You don't kill people," the guy says weakly, the words coming out in muffled half-sobs, "What the fuck should I be scared of."

"Think of all the shit I can do that will hurt without killing you," Matt informs him. He starts to twist the guy's other arm back and hears his breath hitch. "Who's the leader of the Hellhounds?"

"Fuck... fuck off."

"You think we won't find them anyway?" Matt asks. "Make things easier on yourself."

"I don't know who's in charge."

"I can tell you're lying," Matt snaps.

Frank shifts.

"Shall I go get the hacksaw?" he drawls. "I reckon we'll start with the toes and work our way in a vertical direction."

Matt turns towards him furiously, but the guy's heart is nearly slamming out of his chest now.

"Okay, okay!" he shrieks. "I don't know his real name, alright? But he... he's a foreigner."

"Be more specific," Frank growls.

"I don't remember, he - he sounds Australian but he gets all pissed off if you say that he is-"

"New Zealander?" Matt asks.

"That's it." A pause. "Maybe. I think. Look, he's a big pasty guy. Blonde buzzcut. Goes by Cerberus. He doesn't live in the city, but he visits to keep an eye on things."

He breaks off. He's sweating hard, now. Reconsidering. Matt tightens his grip on his arm.

"Keep talking," he prompts.

"Alright, alright! Look, he kept the Hounds underground for a long time. Wouldn't let us have a proper name or do anything really big-time. Just cook and sell under a lot of different aliases. But when Wilson Fisk died, that chaos with the cops being all corrupt seemed like a good time to step it up. Start taking centre stage."

A long time, Matt thinks, heart jolting. That's not good.

"How many of you are there?" he demands.

"In the main gang or-"

"Yeah, let's start with that."

"I don't know, fifteen, twenty originally? A lot more have joined since then."

"And how many are in on it?" He tries to keep the hysterical note out of his voice. "How many in the police?"

"Police?" The guy sounds confused.

"Yes." Matt shakes him; he lets out a groan of pain. "How many have sold out to you?"

"What? I don't know, like... two maybe? Who we've bribed to turn a blind eye to deals? There's civilians, but he's got something hanging over them, so I wouldn't say they're in the gang."

Matt nods. His racing heart settles a little. Foggy was right. A lot of it must just have been talk to get people on side.

"You're using the subway tunnels," Frank speaks up, when Matt doesn't keep asking questions.

The guy's heart jolts, just like Cunningham's did.

"It's one way to get around," he supplies.

"Where's your main hideout?" Matt asks.

"There's no main hideout." A pause. "That would be stupid."

"Well, where should I start looking for this Cerberus-"

Matt breaks off. An engine in the distance; heat, exhaust, the thrumming vibration of wheels on tarmac. His head whips around, and Frank's whips towards him.

"What?" he demands.

"They're coming back," Matt says.

"What, those guys from before?"

"Yeah." It's the same car.

Frank's hand goes to the gun he just took off the guy; Matt startles, but after a second Frank just turns and hauls the man upright.

"Let's get him out of here," he snaps, and starts to yank him towards the car door-

But apparently there's a bit more life in him than it seemed before. He suddenly squirms free and takes the chance to bring his knee up to Frank's groin.

Taken by surprise, Frank lets him go with a grunt. He manages to worm his way out from Frank's arm and stumbles towards the road. Matt dashes after him and grabs him from behind; he hooks an elbow around his neck, starts choking him out, but he's just lowering him to the ground when the car pulls up.

They've seen the fight. They're out of the car in an instant and closing in on them - five men, big guys too, all pulling guns.

"It's fucking Daredevil!" one of them yells, and starts to lift his gun to fire.

Matt had been scared, going into this, that he’d freeze up again like he did back at the old dumping ground. In the moment, it turns out, years of Krav Maga kick in and he instinctively moves in. In a second he’s on the guy - moving himself offline, twisting the gun out of his hand, throwing it aside as he kicks the man in the groin and then moves in with a flurry of punches before a final kick to the chest sends him down.

He twists sideways as a second guy fires at him. Beside him, he’s distantly aware of the crackle of electricity and a racing heartbeat as Castle deals with another of them. Both of them go in for another guy each; Matt struggles with his one for the gun, keeping his free hand up to protect his head as the guy swings at him. A punch grazes the side of his head and disorients him for a second, but he recovers and breaks the guy’s wrist before striking him in the throat hard enough to send him stumbling back, choking-

Frank yells suddenly, a sharp, pained noise, and then there’s an explosion of blood in the air, and Matt whips around, worried. Distracted.

So distracted that he’s just a second too late when he notices the fifth guy coming up next to him.

The guy’s drawing and firing just as Matt ducks, but the crack! of the gunshot is loud enough that for a second-

For a second, it drowns everything else out. For a second his ears ring and he loses sense of where he is, all the small details painting a picture - the footsteps, the rush of air displacing, the sound of every movement echoing off everything around them - vanishing.

He stumbles back, disoriented, instinctively lifting his arms to protect his face.

There’s another gunshot from somewhere - he only distantly hears it, muffled like it’s underwater, but he-

Smells the gunpowder-

Feels the impact in the man’s shoulder in front of him, the blazing heat as the bullet cuts through muscle and bursts free on the other side-

Tastes the tang of blood in the air-

The man drops his gun, but he doesn’t go down. He bullrushes Matt and knocks him to the ground, seeing that he’s dazed. They hit the ground hard; the man knocks the breath out of him. Matt gets in one good punch across the face before the guy grabs his head - fingers digging into his hair through the fabric of the mask - and smashes his head against the ground.

Everything spins. If Matt could see he thinks he would be seeing stars; his hearing’s clearing, now, but he can barely focus on anything, his senses assaulted by so much sound and movement and chaos that he feels like he’s drowning in it. He senses something close to him - cold, metal - and fumbles to grab the guy’s wrist.

They grapple for the weapon, Matt trying to hold him off, the other guy trying to drive the blade down. It sinks into Matt’s shoulder and he lets out a hoarse yell; the guy wrenches it free, goes for his throat-

And then suddenly his weight lifts off Matt and he’s thrown aside. Matt sits up, dizzily. Frank is a blur of noise and motion next to him and he can’t pick apart what’s happening, his head still spinning. Punches are being thrown, he knows that much. And then everything falls still.

There’s still too much, too much. Too many people breathing and wheezing raggedly around them. Too much blood in the air. And in the distance, sirens shrieking, on their way towards them. Then Frank’s by his side, and Matt has to turn away from him with a grimace because the other man’s shirt is absolutely soaked with blood.

“Jesus Christ, Red.” He crouches next to Matt, reaches out, touches the back of his head. Matt flinches. “Are you okay?”

Matt opens his mouth and can’t think of anything to say. Frank’s hand shifts around, touches the side of his face instead, oddly warm and gentle.

“Are you with me?” He sounds worried. “You can hear me, right?”

Matt swallows hard, ends up downing a mouthful of blood, and kind of wants to throw up.

“I can hear you,” he manages, hoarsely. “Hit m’ head. Cops coming.”

It’s a lot of effort to even string that sentence together, but he’s - slowly getting himself together. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath and tries to filter every sense apart so he can take them one at a time. He slowly gets a sense of where he is - the muddy ground under him, Frank’s warmth next to him, a steadying hand on his arm. Pain, pain in the back of his head and in his shoulder.

And five heartbeats around them. Five?

“Who’s dead?” he rasps, and Frank looks around.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he says firmly. “Can’t say I wasn’t tempted, but they’re all alive. Think that guy we were questioning got caught in the crossfire. C’mon. The police are coming. We can talk about this later. Right now we need to get the fuck out of here.”

“You okay?” Matt asks then, because when Frank starts to lever him to his feet he catches the other man’s wince.

“Had worse. We’ll chat about it later, come on.”

Frank’s arm is around his waist, steadying him; Matt has to cling to him because the second he gets upright he feels dizzy again. There’s just too much input, from all directions, all at once.

“God, you’re a mess,” Frank says, and drags him to the car, and really all Matt can register is that as the sirens wail closer and they leave the mess of unconscious bodies behind is that he’s really, really fucking glad he isn’t alone tonight. And also that they have a car because he has no idea how he would’ve walked away from this. Turns out a motor vehicle is really good for getting the fuck out of somewhere, fast.

It’s possible that Matt passes out in the car.

Everything’s sort of a blur from the time he sits down until the next thing he knows they’re in front of Frank’s apartment and the other man is shaking his arm roughly.

“-urdock. Murdock! Matt!”

“Huh?” he replies, and then nearly bites his own tongue off when Frank touches his shoulder right where he got stabbed. “Fuck - fuck, get off!”

Frank pulls back straight away. The car smells like a slaughterhouse. Matt coughs a few times and shakes his head.

Passing out actually helped. It worked like a fucking factory reset; everything was blurring together before, but now he’s back to filtering out the useless stuff, like the couple arguing in the flat across the street and the cats mating behind the dumpster in a nearby alley. He feels exhausted and unfocused, but he knows where he is, which is, y’know, always a good thing when you literally cannot see shit.

Frank’s staring at him, frowning.

“You need a hospital?” he asks gruffly.

“No.”

“I’m serious, Murdock, if you hit your head that hard-”

“I’m not concussed.” He can sense Frank’s disbelief. “I promise. I know what that feels like. Look, I - it takes a lot of control. Not letting everything around me get overwhelming. Kind of like a sensory overload. When I hit my head I let everything slip and it was - a lot to take in.” A pause. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

Frank nods, slowly.

“Well, you’re losing blood,” he grunts. “Let’s get inside and sort ourselves out.”

“You’re bleeding too,” Matt points out, and feels a jolt of concern. Frank’s one of the toughest bastards he’s ever met - he’ll never forget the night he dragged the other man out of that building, barely in one piece but still filled with fire and fury - but he’s actually soaked with blood, and Matt doesn’t want to think about what they both must look like.

He climbs out of the car and has to pause, leaning against the door.

The adrenaline is dying away now, but his heart is pounding and when he lifts a hand he can feel how hard he’s shaking. It was a close call, he realises grimly. A really, really fucking close call.

Frank touches his arm, gently; Matt gives in and leans on him, both of them stumbling up the steps. He can feel Frank trembling, too; neither of them comment on it. He gets the key in the lock and they stagger into the flat.

Pi goes crazy the second they’re in the door; Matt can’t blame him, the dog must be able to smell all the blood. He leaves Frank to calm him down - “Easy boy, easy, it’s fine, we’re fine!” - and stumbles into the living room, where he sinks to the floor against the nearest wall.

You’re okay, it’s okay.

You got what you needed. You got out alive.

He saved your life. That’s the second time now. Great job, Matt. His stomach’s twisting itself in knots and he doesn’t really know why. It’s not usually like this after a patrol. He just - hasn’t bounced back as well as he’d like; from Fisk, from Midland, from everything.

Something nudges at his side and he jumps; the dog’s come over to him now, is nosing at his arm; he lifts a hand weakly and grips at its fur.

“Pi!” Frank snaps, across the room, and shakes something that jingles; a toy. “Leave him alone. Come here.”

Matt lets his head fall back against the wall and instantly regrets it when pain resonates through the back of his skull. Frank walks over to him. He puts down a bucket, strips his own shirt off in one fluid motion, and drops it in, then stands there staring down at Matt.

“You can sit on the couch, you know,” he says flatly.

His heart’s racing, Matt realises. He’s rattled, too. He doesn’t doubt Frank’s been in much worse situations, that he has been hurt worse than this. Which means it’s all the other stuff - being back in the middle of a fight, guns firing all around him, torturing a guy for information. He feels a pang.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and hears Frank’s face scrunch up into a frown.

“For what?” he says gruffly.

“For all that. How it went down.”

“You ain’t got shit to be sorry for, Red,” Frank says, and walks away. He comes back with the medkit, a washcloth and a basin of water and crouches in front of Matt, who can only sort of sit there uselessly. “You in shock or somethin’?”

“No,” Matt replies, unconvincingly.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m fine.”

Frank tilts his head and wrings out the washcloth. The flat seems suddenly very, very quiet; the neighbouring apartments are all asleep, everything around them still and silent. He’s too aware of Frank’s pounding heartbeat, of the warmth radiating off him-

Safe, he thinks, we’re safe here, but everything still feels a bit warped and wrong, it seems like only a second ago that they were standing under that bridge surrounded by bodies. Time is slipping through his fingers like sand and he can’t keep up with it.

“Tonight went well,” Frank says, abruptly. “We got the information we needed. The cops will have picked up those guys. You did good.”

“That guy died.”

“Can’t save ‘em all. His blood’s not on your hands. In this sort of work nothing’s ever gonna turn out perfect. Take it for what it is. That was a success. And we’re both alive, so that’s something.”

Matt nods. He accepts the words, he knows they’re true. His heart’s still pounding, though, he’s all wired and he knows he’s gonna be worked up for the rest of the night. From the way everything about Frank is buzzing he knows he will be, too; it was just one of those jobs where you’re not dead exhausted at the end, you’re all keyed up with energy and nowhere to put it.

“Thanks,” he manages.

“Don’t mention it,” Frank says, “You threw your share of punches back there. Come on, let’s see the damage.”

Matt pushes away from the wall with a wince. He eases his shirt off, choking back a groan of pain when he lifts his arm, and Frank shifts in front of him, leans in close, dabs at his shoulder with the warm washcloth. Water and blood run down his chest, over his stomach.

This is where things get weird.

Later Matt won’t be able to figure out exactly what was going through his head. Or maybe the answer is nothing, he wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem.

He opens his mouth, ready to tell Frank that he’s fine, that he can do it himself, that Frank should tend to his own wounds first - but the words die on his tongue. Frank is very close and very warm and suddenly that’s all Matt’s senses are filled with; his heartbeat, so familiar now that Matt could pick it out of a crowd in an instant. The smell of his sweat and blood, his steady breathing.

He lifts a shaky hand and rests it on Frank’s chest. The other man goes very still as Matt’s hand slides up to his shoulder. There’s a gash down the length of his arm where a knife must have caught him; it’s shallow, Matt can tell, but it’s still been bleeding relentlessly. That’s gonna need stitches.

“Murdock…” Frank starts, then trails off, voice a little choked. Matt moves his hand back to his chest, rests it over his heart for a minute. Feels it, hammering against his ribcage, fast as a hummingbird. There’s something reassuring about feeling it pulse, rhythmically, under his palm.

He lets his hand drop, trailing down Frank’s side before falling back to his own lap. Feels hard muscle and the weaving ropes of scars. His skin is very warm.

This is the most he’s touched someone in a long time, Matt notes, absently.

Frank swallows hard. Both of them are blushing, Matt realises. Both of them buzzing with every hair practically on end. It’s the adrenaline, he knows, it’s that post-fight crazy you get. But he knows, suddenly, that Castle’s attracted to him. His body’s practically a neon sign screaming it at him. Frank reaches up and his thumb brushes against Matt’s cheek and then it’s slipping up under the mask. Matt reaches up and grabs his wrist.

“I’ve seen your face, Red,” Frank says, and Matt bites his lip.

This is a bad idea. But he still lets his hand fall, lets Frank slip the mask up over the top of his head.

He feels far too vulnerable suddenly, as the cool air hits his face, and something about that makes him ache, but there’s something a bit thrilling about it, too. Maybe he’s just getting way too tired of holding all his walls up. He stares straight ahead, knows he’s not meeting Frank’s eyes, that his gaze is way off. But then Frank’s hand is cradling his jaw, moving to tilt his head towards him-

And Matt leans in and kisses him.

It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. A bit of a head rush. Impulse control? What’s that?

If he’s thinking - and he’s really, really not, not properly - it’s just little things, stupid things that rush through his head like swooping birds, like-

Like it’s been a bad night and I need someone to touch me-

Like Karen and Foggy are together and you’re alone, alone, alone-

Like he saved your life-

And my shoulder really fucking hurts, it kills, I could have died tonight-

And he saved you, he cares about you, he was worried-

It’s been a long time-

I can’t-

Everything’s falling apart and I just need-

You’re safe.

Frank’s lips are rough and chapped against his. He tastes like blood and coffee. He kisses back, hard and demanding at first, but when he pushes Matt too hard against the wall and he winces, something softens; his hand gentle now against Matt’s cheek, the other curled around his bicep, thumb rubbing slow circles against his arm.

When they pull apart they’re both breathing heavily. Frank lets his forehead drop against Matt’s; he can feel the other man’s breath still, against his lips. Their hearts are both racing but it’s different to before; he actually feels steadier rather than off-balance. Matt swallows hard.

“Um,” he says, eloquently.

“Jesus, Red,” Frank mutters. “Jesus.”

He loves Karen, Matt thinks, as he closes his eyes and lets himself drink in the other man’s warmth, how it seems to soak into his skin into his very bones, melt away a cold that’s been there too long. You love Karen and Foggy. And here you both are.

There’s probably something fucked up about this. But he’ll take it, for now. To not feel so cold, just for a moment.

He opens his mouth, only to freeze when Frank claps a hand over it.

“If the next word out of your fucking mouth is sorry, I swear...” he warns, and Matt freezes-

And then starts laughing, a bit hysterically maybe. Muffled at first until Frank drops his hand and joins in. And God, everything hurts, every bruise and cut from the fight, his head and his shoulder and-

And his life, he knows, just got five thousand times more complicated. As though he didn’t have enough personal shit to deal with-

But Frank’s not radiating horror, or even regret. Maybe he will in the morning, when they’re not fresh out of the fight and kinda fucked in the head, maybe they both will.

But for now, all Matt can think is why fucking not. Not like there’s anyone else around who’s as lonely and fucked up as you are. Not like Castle has anyone else.

So he lets himself relax. Let’s himself have this night for what it is - as Frank picks up the washcloth again, as Matt tries to breathe deep so his hands stop shaking, knowing he’ll be stitching up the other man in a minute. And when Frank steadies him with a hand on his good shoulder, when he mumbles “You’re alright,” he can almost let himself believe it.

11. CAN FOGGY’S DAY GET ANY WORSE? LET’S FIND OUT

Everything’s fine but not fine.

Foggy wakes up and cooks Karen eggs. They stand next to each other in the bathroom. He shaves and watches her put on her makeup. They watch the news while they have their coffee, murmur about the big headlines. Captain America spotted a few times. Still on the run. Police arrest five in a drug deal gone wrong down by the Southport Bridge, with one unidentified body to add to the fun.

Karen drives him to work. Before they go in she straightens his tie and he brushes some hair out of her face and they exchange a quick, pleasant kiss.

Everything’s fine.

But something - something feels off. He can’t explain why. Dinner last night was perfectly nice; they didn’t discuss Frank Castle or the Hellhounds or anything else. Just the news and stupid things they’d seen online recently and a few other cases they’re working on. Karen spent the night at his place, and neither of them had really bad dreams for once.

Everything should be okay. But it all just feels - a bit flat, a bit paper-cut-out, like they’re just going through the motions.

He catches Karen’s arm as she makes her way up into the building.

“We’re okay, right?” he says slowly.

He can see in her face. She feels it too. But she nods, smiles.

“Of course,” she whispers, and reaches down and tangles their fingers together and tugs him after her into the office-

But something inside him feels hollow, hollow, hollow. Maybe he’s just getting old and tired.

Matt walks into work twenty minutes late. Foggy hears him coming before he sees him. Or more accurately, he hears Karen’s chair scrape back from her desk before she says, “Jesus Christ.”

“Good morning,” Matt replies.

Foggy exits his office and grimaces. Even Matt’s glasses can’t hide the fact that he looks like shit. Like he looks tired at the best of times, but today he actually looks sick. He clearly hasn’t had time to shave, he must barely have slept, but he’s got this sort of bruised-eye, pallid look that makes it look like he belongs in the hospital.

Not only that, his arm’s in a sling.

“You doing alright, buddy?” Foggy asks, pointedly, and Matt turns towards him and smiles a bit.

“Got a little bit stabbed.”

Foggy’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest. He sees Matt’s smile fade. Forces himself to take a deep, calming breath.

It never gets easier. Days like this when it’s clear that Matt could just - not have come back from patrol last night, as easy as that. There one day, gone the next.

“Define a little bit,” he insists.

“Not life threatening,” Matt clarifies, “But I lost a lot of blood and I don’t think I’ll be climbing around for a while. I need to let it heal.”

“You should go home,” Karen says, exchanging a worried look with Foggy. “Rest. You look like you could use it.”

“I don’t want to mess up my body clock,” Matt informs them, making for his office.

Foggy follows him in.

“You don’t have a body clock,” he points out, “You literally never sleep. Seriously, you alright? I thought…”

He trails off, not wanting to say it, but Matt stops and turns towards him, slowly.

“Castle had my back,” he replies, carefully, “Saved my life for the second time, actually. I owe him a good few at this point. He got hurt, too. But we got the info we needed. A name - Cerberus. New Zealander, not a local. Doesn’t live in Hell’s Kitchen. See what Karen can dig up?”

Foggy nods. There’s a funny, guarded look on Matt’s face that he can’t figure out. For a moment they stand there, facing each other a bit awkwardly.

Last night…

Last night Foggy had been worried. And also pretty fucking shocked because Matt? Voluntarily offering the truth? He’d thought he was dreaming, or maybe that the world was ending. But in the light of day, he’s glad that Matt trusted him - and, in hindsight, glad he wasn’t alone.

Positive reinforcement, he thinks grimly, and reaches out and squeezes Matt’s arm gently.

“Hey - thanks for calling me last night. I appreciate it,” he says. “I like to be in the loop.”

Matt smiles a little, something relaxing in his shoulders.

“Thanks for being there,” he replies, and Foggy grins back.

“Take it easy today, I’m serious,” he says, and Matt nods, and things feel kind of okay. It still tugs at his heart, seeing him all beaten down - but that’s just life, these days, and at least they’re not fighting, and if he gets the sense Matt’s hiding something, he doesn’t think it’s something big, something that involves the rest of them. So he leaves it, for now - backs out and shuts Matt’s office door.

Karen’s standing at her desk, staring at him.

“He okay?” she asks, and Foggy nods.

“I think he’s fine,” he says. “He’s got a name - New Zealander who goes by Cerberus, if you can find anything on that.”

“I’m on it,” Karen says, and sits down to get to it, and Foggy stands there for a second. Looks at the top of her blonde head, bent intently over her laptop, knows she’ll soon be so wrapped up in her work she’s barely aware of what’s going on around her. Looks through the window to Matt’s office - he’s sitting in his chair with his eyes closed and Foggy’s not sure if he’s listening to something or if he’s actually legit just fallen asleep right the fuck there. With his head tilted back Foggy can see the sharp line of his jaw, the stretch of his neck, bluish bruises spreading like spilled ink from under his shirt collar.

He feels a sudden surge of affection for both of them - and something else. Something fierce, protective almost, of the three of them, of this feeling of when they’re all in on the secret, a sense of balance that’s been off-kilter the last couple of days. It passes abruptly, leaves him feeling a little nervous, worried about how easily everything could veer off course, and he wanders back to his office to get some work done.

Shit starts going off the rails that afternoon, just before lunch.

As disasters go, it has a very mundane beginning. Karen’s sitting at a table in the kitchen eating another of her carefully prepared boxes. Matt’s standing, very slowly making a coffee with his one good hand. Foggy’s digging around in the fridge for leftovers. Pretty typical workday.

“Hey, can you SuperNose this for me?” he demands, thrusting a box of old Pad Thai at Matt, who recoils.

“Uhhh,” he replies, looking very dubious, and Foggy abruptly remembers the one time he asked Matt why he didn’t want a hot dog from the park and got a rundown of exactly how much shit (including literal shit) was inside it.

“Just give me a yes or no, will I get food poisoning if I eat it?”

“Probably not?” Matt says gingerly, and Foggy nods and grabs a fork. Karen rolls her eyes as he sits next to her.

“You know I can make lunch for you as well,” she points out.

“And waste these perfectly good leftovers?”

“Hey,” Matt cuts in abruptly. He’s not looking at them. “Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

He sounds… not quite nervous, but hesitant. It’s unusual enough for him that both Foggy and Karen look up in alarm, and Matt starts to laugh.

“No need to be so scared. It’s… it’s trivial, really. Just something stupid.”

“Of course,” Karen says softly.

Matt’s - Matt’s feeling awkward, Foggy realises, with dawning amusement. He’s shuffling around with his coffee like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and for a second Foggy’s startlingly reminded of their uni days - of Matt back when they were invited to parties or had to do a group project with people they didn’t know. Of when he first met Elektra. It makes something warm and fond rise in his chest.

That lasts about five seconds.

“Purely out of curiosity,” Matt prefaces his inquiry with, which is always such an encouraging sign, “What does Frank Castle look like?"

Foggy nearly chokes on a piece of tofu.

Karen’s eyes go huge. Then she grins a bit, looking almost flustered. Matt finally peeks around at them and Foggy can’t quite tell if he’s blushing or not. Dear God. What’s going on?

“What do you know already?” Karen asks.

Matt shrugs.

“How tall he is? I get a sense of people’s size, but all I can really do after that is imagine from their voices. I’m just curious,” he adds again, rather too defensively in Foggy’s opinion, “I’m not exactly about to ask to touch all over his face.”

“Please do,” Foggy says, “It’d be hilarious.”

“I like my hands. I’d rather they stay attached to my body,” Matt says. He leans against the counter, sips his coffee, then adds, quietly, “Honestly, though, I’d like to know.”

Why, Foggy thinks, a bit sourly. Why do you want to know.

Since when are Matt and Castle best buddies? He still doesn’t like this, doesn’t like the direction it’s going, doesn’t like the distinct lack of control he has over the entire situation. It’s bad enough that Karen’s all over Frank. He’d thought Matt had more sense than that.

“He’s got this giant, fucked up nose,” he declares, “And the world’s biggest earlobes-”

“Foggy!” Karen chides.

“On a scale of one to ten I’d rate him, like, a two or three.”

“Foggy.” Karen sounds genuinely pissed off. Here we go, Foggy thinks. “Don’t be a dick.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says quickly, and moves to make a hasty escape. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a pointless question-”

“No it’s not,” Karen snaps, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s not. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable thing for you to ask about anyone. And if you want to know what someone looks like, I’m gonna tell you.”

“Karen…” Matt sounds pained.

He thinks we’re gonna end up fighting, Foggy realises. Are they? Are they fighting over Frank Castle again? Karen’s still glaring at him; he folds his arms, looks away. After a second Karen turns back to Matt and her face softens.

“He has dark hair,” she says, with that earnest sincerity that usually Foggy loves so much about her. “And dark eyes. He does have a big nose, but it suits his face. It probably has been broken a few times. His hair’s a bit longer now than it was when we first met him. He has a very square jaw. He frowns a lot but I think it’s just a bad case of resting bitch face.”

Matt’s lips twitch a little. He’s hanging on her every word. Foggy glances between them, eyes narrow, unsure what the fuck is going on here.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Karen adds then, pettily, “I’d give him an eight.”

“That’s very generous,” Foggy replies, icily. And in his head, thinks, that was pretty fucking unnecessary. She’s trying to hurt you. It’s mean in a way that’s very unlike her. Karen glances at him, and after a second her face softens.

“You’re a nine,” she says, and leans across and kisses his cheek. It doesn’t really mollify him. The only reason he forces out a laugh is because Matt’s starting to look very awkward, clearly feeling caught in the middle.

“Matt’s a ten, obviously,” Foggy says, because he set this train in motion so might as well commit to making everyone feel self-conscious, right.

Matt scoffs out a laugh, head lowered, gaze directed at his coffee cup.

“When he doesn’t look like he just got the crap beat out of him, sure,” Karen says.

“Your numerical scale of attractiveness really means nothing to me,” Matt points out, “That’s the sort of shit only sighted people come up with.” And then, softer, “Thanks, Karen.”

She smiles a bit. Matt takes his coffee and leaves the room. The second he’s gone a frosty sort of awkwardness descends over them. Foggy can’t tell if Karen’s actually genuinely angry with him. In fact, he doesn’t know if he’s really angry with her.

Uneasy, he thinks. He’s uneasy about this.

Same sort of uneasy he was the other day, when Frank just happened to drop by and hang out with all of them-

Same sort of uneasy when she didn’t tell him he was back in town. When he went over to her place for drinks. The only reason he hasn’t totally freaked out is because every single time, Matt was there with them too-

But still. It’s starting to reach a breaking point. He doesn’t like this. He thinks, suddenly, that he’s about to get angry, and rises from the table.

“Gotta make a phone call,” he says, just for an excuse to get some air. Karen doesn’t stop him. She does look a bit upset, but Foggy can only leave, miserably, thinking, of course it couldn’t last.

“I’m gonna work late tonight,” Foggy declares when he gets back in, “Got a lot to do on the Harper case.”

He proceeds to lock himself in his office and actually legit get stuck into work, because one of the three of them needs to earn a living around here. Karen leaves early, chasing the Cerberus lead, and even if he’s a bit pissed Foggy still makes her promise to text him updates. She can take care of herself, she knows, but it still makes his heart jolt nervously when she does go out there to pursue something dangerous.

It’s just past five when Matt raps at his office door. Foggy looks up.

“You okay?” Matt asks abruptly, and Foggy blinks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, and Matt shifts. He can’t seem to put it into words, but that’s understandable, Foggy things. He can’t put it into words either, he just knows that he’s not. Something’s off with Karen. Something still off with him - he has this sense of looming dread that he hates. It’s making him feel far too fragile.

“Well,” Matt says, after a very strained pause, “I’m gonna head out early if that’s okay. I’m ready to crash.”

“No patrol tonight?” Foggy asks, and Matt gestures at his arm.

“Need to let this heal. Shouldn’t take too long.”

He turns to leave. Foggy weighs up the bad decision he’s been tossing around all afternoon and thinks why the fuck not.

“Matt,” he calls out. “Wait.”

Matt turns, and Foggy waves for him to sit down.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He swallows hard. “Just - please?”

“Of course,” Matt says softly. He sits opposites Foggy, moves like he’s gonna take his glasses off, then thinks better of it. Foggy’s honestly too nervous to think much about it.

“Look,” he says, slowly, “We’re best friends, right?”

“Of course,” Matt repeats.

“This is like - the sort of shit I’d tell you about if we were back at uni.” He lets out a hysterical sort of laugh. “I just - I need you to be straight with me. No bullshit.”

“Okay…”

“I’m serious. I- I trust you to be honest with me, about this at least.” He knows it doesn’t matter, that Matt can’t tell either way, but he makes himself look up and meet the other man’s eyes. “It’s been bothering me since the other day. Something I noticed that you can tell me for sure. I don’t know if I’m just being an idiot or overthinking this or what.”

“Foggy,” Matt says gently, “You’re rambling.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” God, it’s so hard to get the words out. His palms are sweating. “I don’t think I’m wrong. But. Karen’s into Frank, isn’t she?”

He sees Matt’s shoulders stiffen. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he suddenly doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He opens his mouth, reconsiders, then swallows.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know what I mean.” The words come out in a rush now. “The way she talks about him. This connection they have that she can’t explain to me. The other day when he came to say hi to us, the way they were looking at each other… even today, when she was describing him-”

“Foggy…”

“Look, I’m not trying to - to be that guy, alright? Just. I need to know. You can tell, can’t you? She’s into him.”

The thing about being friends with someone as guarded as Matt is that Foggy now has a fucking PhD in reading between the lines. There’s as much in what he doesn’t say as in what he does, and his silence right now is very, very telling. Foggy leans back in his seat, runs his hands through his hair.

“Right,” he says. “Right. Okay.”

“Attraction is a weird thing,” Matt starts. “It’s - it’s not something you control. Not really.”

“I know.” A pause. “He’s into her too, isn’t he?”

Matt grimaces.

“Nothing’s going to happen between them,” he says firmly. “She’s with you, Foggy. Not him. And Castle… for all his faults, he’s not - he wouldn’t try and make a move on her. He’s not that sort of guy. And Karen would never.”

“I know.” And he does know. “I’m not - I’m not worried about that. Not really.”

“But you’re not comfortable with all this,” Matt observes softly, and Foggy looks away. “Look, Foggy… old feelings, they don’t… they don’t mean anything. You learn to get past them, learn to work together either way.”

There’s something too heavy in his voice. Foggy’s head snaps back up.

“What’s that mean?” he asks.

The look on Matt’s face makes him pause. Him and Karen? Is that what he’s getting at? Jesus fucking Christ, if he’s still into her too…

Matt must be able to tell he’s being sized up. His face abruptly closes off.

“I can’t get involved in your and Karen’s business,” he says, “I just - Foggy, it’s too... When we all work together… it puts all of us in a bad spot.”

“I know you and Karen were-”

“I still have dreams about Elektra,” Matt interrupts him, and Foggy’s mouth snaps shut. He hadn’t meant to make Matt uncomfortable, but from the look on his face it seems like he’s pushed a bit too far. “Nightmares, more like. I just - you don’t need to worry about me, Foggy. I’ve got too many ghosts for that.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Foggy whispers, and Matt nods. He must be able to tell it’s true.

“Okay. Good.” He starts to stand up and Foggy bites his lip. He feels like he should say something, like he’s made things awkward and needs to fix it, but he doesn’t know how. A second later Matt adds, in a flustered rush, “No one would… would be stupid enough to give up a chance with you, anyway. You’re the biggest catch of everyone I know.”

“What?” Foggy asks - he’s not fishing for anything, he’s legitimately not sure he heard that right - the tips of Matt’s ears turn very red. “Says you, Mister Popular. Remind me, which one of us got anyone they wanted in college?”

“Not everyone I wanted,” Matt mutters, and then bites his lip like he hadn’t meant to say it. He rubs his hands over his face. “I… Sorry, Foggy, I really, really need to sleep.”

“Of course.” Embarrassed now, Foggy rises in a flustered rush. “Sorry, I - I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward spot.”

“It’s fine.” Matt smiles. “Happy to talk about it. Just - don’t worry, okay? You trust Karen, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Foggy whispers. It’s not a lie, not really. He trusts Karen not to betray him. He just doesn’t trust everything not to fall apart on its own.  

Matt gives a brief smile. He leaves in a hurry and Foggy feels faintly guilty and isn’t sure why. And faintly unsettled, just by how cagey Matt was being. There’s something going on with him that Foggy can’t figure out.

Too many secrets, he thinks miserably, and for a second he wants to stand up and just - freak out, just sweep everything off his desk and scream.

We’re not meant to be like this.

The three of us, it isn’t… after Fisk…

Things are meant to be okay now. And if they were actually, actively going wrong he could find a way to fix them, but it’s just - little things.

Stupid little things that it would be petty to focus on, but they’re still eating away at him. He has no idea what to do, except sit down, and take a deep breath, and get back to work, and wait.

They ambush him two blocks away from his apartment.

Foggy’s walking home, hoping the air and exercise will clear his head. In hindsight, given the state of their city recently and the fact that he knows Matt isn’t out tonight, this is not the best idea he’s ever had.

The tread of footsteps rushing up behind him is the only warning he gets before a thick arm pulls tight around his neck, dragging him back into the shadows of an alley he was just passing by. Foggy chokes, tugging desperately at the arm. Through his blurred vision he sees three or four other figures closing in from the darkness.

“Is that him?” a voice growls.

“Yeah,” the man holding him says, “It’s the lawyer prick.”

“Where’s the other one?”

“We only need one to know what Lester told ‘em.”

Fuck, Foggy thinks. He can barely breathe and his vision is beginning to spot dark at the edges. The man spins him around and he sees the headlights of a car parked deeper in the alley. His stomach drops.

He’s read enough stories about kidnapping to know, never get in the car. You’re fucked if you let them get you in the car.

Okay, so here’s the thing. Foggy was not joking when he was all maybe I should learn some self defence, and maybe Matt didn’t get around to teaching him anything, but you gotta be proactive with that shit. He wasn’t just waiting around. He’s taken a grand total of three Krav Maga classes but they did cover holds, and although he’s not exactly expecting to pull off some sort of black belt move, he does remember, be aggressive.

They’re not expecting some white collar guy to fight back.

There’s no time to waste. Before he can overthink it, in a single explosive movement he bends his knees, brings his hand down, fingers forming a hook that curls around the guy’s arm and drags it down. It gives him a centimetre of room, but that’s enough to suck in a breath. Enough for him to stamp on the guy’s fucking foot, stagger a few paces forward, swing a fist back around to hammer-strike him in the groin, and run the fuck away!

It’s clumsy, but he was right - it does take them by surprise. He sprints out of the alley and down the street, heart racing-

They’re after him.

He can hear their footsteps, their yells, and there’s no one around, and-

Fuck this, Foggy thinks. He’s so scared that he’s, like, ascended to a higher plane above panic. Everything around him seems very sharp and clear. He’s a fast son of a bitch when he wants to be; he veers around a corner, takes another sharp left. Glances over his shoulder. They’re still behind him.

The streets around here are dark and quiet. The nearest main road is a little distance away, but to be honest in Hell’s Kitchen even a main road doesn’t guarantee your safety. No police stations in running distance. His flat is in a desolate enough area that it’s not really an option, plus he doesn’t want them knowing where he lives.

He takes a few more sharp turns, barely aware of where he is at this point, then skids to a halt and grimaces. He’s ended up in a dead end filled with dumpsters.

There’s no time to turn back.

He’s got a bit of a head start on them. Without thinking about it he picks one near the back and clambers in, yanking the lid shut behind him. He lands on something soft, his heart skipping a beat as he’s plunged into such total darkness that for a second it makes a primal fear rise deep in his belly. He flounders for a moment until his shoes hit the bottom of the metal bin.

Paper. It’s a recycling bin. He crouches near the bottom and drags what feels like a sheet of cardboard over him, hoping for some cover. It won’t be enough, he knows grimily, they’re gonna catch up and there aren’t that many places to hide around here.

He gets out his phone, glad when the screen lights up the bin around him with a faint glow - then freezes.

What should I do? Call the cops?

Thing is. Matt’s made him all paranoid now with his “trust no one and especially not the police” schtick. Usually Foggy would not hesitate to have 911 on fucking speed dial. But now he feels a sudden shaky uncertainty.

If the cops show up and they’re on their side...

“Hey!”

“I think he went down here.”

Distant voices. Footsteps. A fist squeezes his heart so hard he’s sure it’ll burst. He remembers Lester’s shaking voice, the fear in his eyes. He doesn’t have long until they find him.

Trembling so hard he can barely navigate his phone’s touchscreen, he calls Matt.

“Foggy?” He must have been sleeping; he sounds groggy.

“Matt.” He’s surprised how calm his own whisper sounds considering he feels like he might pass out any second now. “I’m in trouble. Hounds are after me.”

“What?” Matt’s instantly more alert. “Where are you?”

“Hiding in a dumpster,” he hisses, “I can hear them out there - they know we talked to Lester-“

“A dumpster where?”

He can what Matt moving, flinging open a cupboard door, rustling around with something.

“I...” His mind blanks. “One second.”

“What? Foggy?”

Panic has wiped his mind clean. He has to pull open Google maps, wait an agonisingly long minute for the GPS to figure out his location, and then finally get back on the line to give Matt the address.

“I’m on my way,” Matt says, “Don’t hang up.”

And then he goes silent. Foggy puts his phone in his pocket and then shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from making a sound.

Every noise - passing cars, the rustle of paper - seems deafening. His legs are cramping where he’s crouched, but he barely notices. All he can focus on is how his chest feels like it’s being squeezed in a steel vice.

It feels like forever, although it must be maybe five minutes. But then he hears the Hounds’ voices, and their heavy boots approaching.

This is it, he thinks, and realises he’s gasping for breath like a drowning man. Goodbye cruel fucking world. And what strikes him for some reason is regret, that he didn’t call Karen to say goodbye, and a heavy concern for Matt and how guilty he’s gonna feel when Foggy’s body inevitably turns up floating in a river somewhere. Like they weren’t all traumatised enough already.

The dumpster lid is flung open with a bang! A bright light shining in his eyes nearly blinds Foggy as rough hands haul him free.

“Here he is!” someone yells - he blinks, spots dancing in his vision, an iron grip around his arms - before he can get his bearings a fist strikes him across the face and he falls sideways, spitting blood-

There’s a thud from the back of the group. A yell. Another thud. Two guys down and the other three spinning around. The man holding Foggy lets go and he staggers free and turns to see a dark figure beating the shit out of one of the men, then dragging him close, using him as a shield when the other two advance on him. He flings him to the ground, ducks a solid right hook from one of the other guys and then drives his fist up into his stomach. There’s a flash of light and the man screams.

A taser, Foggy realises - his face throbs and he’s so dazed he can hardly think straight. That’s not Matt. That’s-

No fucking way, he realises grimly, as the last guy swings his torch around and the beam lights up... well, to put it in his own words, a giant fucked up nose and the world’s biggest earlobes.

Why! Just why! He watches Castle grab the guy’s arm and cringes when he breaks it with an audible snap, then wrenches the torch free and beats him over the head with it until he goes down.

A heavy silence falls.

Foggy’s standing there frozen. He can hear himself gasping - terrible, inhuman noises that at any other time he’d be embarrassed by. Everything tilts dizzily and he realises that his jaw is swollen, that it really fucking hurts. The next thing he knows Frank Castle’s all up in his face.

“You okay?” he demands, gruffly.

Foggy swallows a few times.

“What…” he manages. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to go,” Castle snaps, “That’s not all of ‘em. They split up to look for you.”

“I…”

He trails off. He doesn’t know what to say. Snap out of it, he thinks, you need to get your shit together. He’s just feeling a bit - shaky and weak and shocky.

Castle steps forward. Foggy yelps as the other man spins him roughly around. One hand grips his arm tightly, the other is braced across the back of his neck. He’s frogmarched down the alley. It takes him a second before he starts struggling weakly. Castle has a firm grip on him and Foggy has no choice but to stumble along.

“What - what’re you doing?”

“Getting you the hell out of here!”

“But why are you here?”

Castle suddenly stops. He shoves Foggy behind him and Foggy blinks a few times. Then he sees the three men stepping out from a side street ahead of them. His heart sinks.

Let me tell you, for all that he despises the other man, in that moment Foggy has never been so fucking grateful that Frank Castle is there by his side. Because as he watches the other man crack his knuckles and start striding towards them, suddenly he has very few doubts that the Punisher is gonna be able to deal with this situation.

The three men advance on him. Castle seems unfazed. He’s just sliding one foot back into his fighting stance when suddenly a black blur leaps down from the nearest rooftop and lands on one of the men’s backs.

All hell breaks loose. Foggy staggers to the side and watches, breathless, at a blur of fists and feet. It takes him a second to pick out Matt in the middle of the fray; he’s in his Daredevil get up and, Foggy notices with worry, one arm is carefully cradled by his side.

He hasn’t actually seen Matt fight up close - not really, not like this. Even with one limb out of commission, it’s pretty fucking breathtaking to watch - how easily he ducks and side-steps swipes, how he pivots on his toes to land a devastating side kick, how he swings an elbow around to smash it solidly against his opponent’s jaw. There’s a brutality to his movements that Foggy’s never seen in him before.

His mouth is suddenly very dry. He feels like he’s watching a stranger - he’s not sure what emotion it is that rises up in his chest and throat, that makes his heart pound with something else suddenly. Not fear. Excitement? There’s just something - strange and thrilling about actually putting two and two together. That’s Matt - his Matt, moving like a dancer, flinging a guy to the ground, weaving in and out between blows.

His breath catches when one of the guys lands a kick that sends Matt stumbling back a pace, clutching his shoulder - but Castle’s on the guy a second later, hauling him back by the throat and punching him across the face. When one of the others gets back up and grabs Frank in a bear-hug from behind, Matt moves in and strikes him in the face with his palm, sending him reeling backwards, clutching his nose. They both spin around to finish off the two guys, and a second later the street is still and quiet again.

Foggy sees Matt shake himself, sees him finally drop his fists and relax. Then his head snaps up, and he’s rushing to Foggy’s side.

“Foggy.” His voice is ragged and desperate. “Are you okay?”

Foggy nods mutely. Matt’s hands are on him - running down his arms, reaching up to cup his cheek. His fingers linger lightly over Foggy’s jaw for a moment, tracing the bruise that’s already forming, the blood where his lip split on his teeth, and Foggy has to fight back a shiver. It’s - weird, Matt doesn’t touch him like this, not usually, and he’s not sure why it makes something electric tingle down his spine.

“I’m fine,” he forces out, and takes a deep breath.

This, Matt being here, is what finally steadies him. His head clears; he feels nothing but exhausted, but quite certain that, now, everything will be okay.

“They hit you.” There’s a dark undertone to Matt’s voice that’s almost frightening. Foggy reaches up and grips his wrist; a second later he slides his hand down to tangle their fingers together instead.

“I’m fine, Matt. Really. Just glad you’re here. Is that all of them?” he asks.

Matt tilts his head like a dog, listening, and then nods.

Castle comes up. He looks between the two of them, his gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. A funny look crosses his face, then he turns to Matt.

“Nice timing, Red,” he says. “I had it handled, though. I didn’t patch up that arm for you to fuck it up again less than twenty four hours later.”

“Says the one who’s bleeding,” Matt fires back, and Foggy realises there’s a spreading dark patch on Castle’s arm. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and jacket, not any sort of masked getup.

“They saw your face,” Matt adds after a second, and Castle shakes his head.

“It’s real fucking dark. Doubt they got enough of a glimpse to recognise me.”

Matt’s shoulders slump in relief. He turns to Frank then, letting go of Foggy’s hand, and says, softly, “Thanks.”

Foggy’s eyes narrow. There’s something - weird, about the two of them. The way they’re angled towards each other. The way Frank keeps staring at Matt, something way too intense in it. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, not right now. He clears his throat.

“Um, guys. Can we move this conversation somewhere with four walls and a door that locks?”

“Of course,” Matt says. “Frank?”

“Karen’s place,” Frank decides, which Foggy will admit makes something spike in his chest. Yeah, the guy just saved him, but things still taste too bitter. “Think we need to hold an emergency meeting. My car’s around the corner.”

“Why is he here again?” Foggy demands, as they start following him down the street.

“Sorry.” Matt does sound apologetic. “I… my arm’s so busted I can’t get around the roofs as fast as I usually do. I didn’t know if I’d get here in time. You’re close to Frank’s apartment so I knew he’d be in the area. I - I was worried. I needed to make sure we got to you as soon as possible.”

Foggy swallows hard. He can’t bring himself to be angry. It makes sense. And Castle did save him.

He nods, not up to arguing just yet. It’s starting to sink in. Someone targeted him - him - and it won’t be the last time, and shit just got really, really real.

Matt must sense his heart pounding. He moves closer to Foggy’s side, shoulders bumping against one another a little. Foggy fights the sudden urge to grab his hand and cling tight, not let go.

“You sure you’re alright?” he murmurs, and Foggy bites his lip.

“Fine,” he whispers, but he knows it’s a lie, and Matt knows it’s a lie, and if he’s certain about one thing it’s that he won’t be sleeping easy, not now, not for a very long time.