An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
just some mattimir shenanigans
read it on ao3 or here on tumblr!
Ship: Matt Murdock x Vladimir Ranskahov (Mattimir)
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
Matt has never heard of Russia.
He’s six years old, he barely knows what a globe is. He understands that the city eventually ends and somewhere there were places like forests and mountains, but none of that mattered.
Starting today, it will be home for two new kids from Russia.
“Alright class, this is Vladimir. Everyone say, ‘Hi Vladimir!’”
The class choruses, “Hi Vladimir,” in the most monotonous way possible.
The teacher scowls but says nothing of it. She explains it’s time for Vladimir to take his seat.
There’s only one empty seat.
He turns around and smiles at the blond boy.
“I’m Matthew. You can call me Matt,” he says, holding out his hand awkwardly between the two desks. The boy takes it, smiling back. He shakes it softly.
“Vladimir, you can call me Volodya.”
“Volo-what? I think Vladimir might be easier,” Matt laughs. He’s never heard a name like Vladimir’s and wonders if his last name is just as strange.
For the next three weeks, Vladimir tries to teach Matt as much Russian as possible, which is to say very little. All of the writing looks like scribbly squares, and none of them are remembered. Matt gets “Hi, Yes, No,” and his favorite, “What,” before it’s time for Vladimir to leave.
“But you just got here,” Matt whined.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
The next time Vladimir comes to visit, Matt is nine. He knows a lot more about Russia now. He still hasn’t been able to master speaking any Russian on his own, but he’s started trying to read the really big books that high schoolers read by those old Russian authors.
It’s the same introduction all over again, only this time in front of fourth graders.
“Hi Volodya, long time no see,” Matt jokes as Vladimir takes the seat behind him.
It was a little inside joke between the two of them. Matt always held the seat behind him in case Vladimir ever came back to visit.
Most of the time he didn’t.
He visited a lot more frequently throughout that year.
“What brings you to the States?”
“Our dad.”
“Okay, well what brings him to the States.”
Vladimir was always cryptic. His answers to most questions were vague at best, and when Matt asks about when he’ll be leaving he gets no answer at all.
One day he’s at school, the next day he isn’t. That’s all the warning Matt gets.
Vladimir stops showing up at all after winter break.
Guess he went home for Christmas.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
When Matt is eleven, he starts to wish Vladimir won’t come back at all. He doesn’t want the Russian boy to see him like this - where he can’t see him too.
He does, and it makes Matt angry.
“Matvey, what’s wrong? No warm welcome?” Vladimir asks, pausing in front of his desk.
“I can’t learn Russian anymore.”
“Rubbish. You can still speak it.”
“You’re right,” Vladimir sighed, finally taking his seat behind Matt. He gave Matt’s seat a slight shove with his foot, “It’ll be easier.”
They pick up right where they left off, and Matt’s even better at Russian now that he never has to try and pretend to read it.
“But when do I get to learn the bad words?” He asks Vladimir one day at recess.
“But,” Matt stops himself, thinking it stupid to mention.
“I’ll be back to teach you them,” Vladimir guessed, “I promise.”
The Russian stays in town for nearly three months before he disappears. Matt tries to pretend he doesn’t miss him.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
“You’re wasting your time with those brail books,” Stick calls from down the hall.
Matt ignores him, moving his fingers along the bumps of a Dostoevsky novel that barely makes sense.
“Besides, reading Russian books in English won’t teach you Russian. So let’s keep training.”
“You’ve already beat me five times today, I don’t want to go again,” Matt whines.
“You learn from your mistakes,” Stick shoots back. “The more you fail, the easier it will be to succeed.”
Matt doesn’t reply, letting the bumps and ridges on the page consume his thoughts.
“Why are you so hell-bent on learning Russian anyways Matty?” Stick asks, tone harsh and judgemental.
“I just want to,” Matt snaps back. He snaps the book shut and stands up from the chair at the kitchen table. “I’m going to bed.”
Stick says nothing, but his eyes trail after the young boy as he exits the room.
Vladimir doesn’t return until Matt is nearly fourteen. One day the seat behind Matt isn’t empty anymore.
“Привет, Volodya,” Matt says softly.
“Hello to you too, Matvey. I can hear you’ve been practicing,” the boy replied with a smile painted across his face.
“Немного,” Matt replies with a grin. Vladimir chuckles lightly.
They spend their lunch break going over all the words and phrases Matt’s learned, with Vladimir correcting his pronunciation.
“You’re a natural, Matvey,” Vladimir exclaims. Matt can’t help the heat that begins to rise up his neck and paint his skin with pink splotches.
“Спасибо,” Matt manages weakly. Vladimir claps him on the shoulder. Matt busies himself by scarfing down half of his lunch to cover the blush now rising to his cheeks.
“I won’t be staying long,” Vladimir begins softly. Matt, mid-bite, feels his stomach drop. “But I’ll be back soon, and I should be staying til the end of the year,” he continues excitedly. Matt swallows.
“I’d like that,” he says.
“Of course you would, I’m your only friend,” Vladimir jokes, elbowing him lightly in the gut.
“Something like that,” Matt replies.
Sometimes, Matt imagines what happened to Vladimir. He never returned for the end of ninth grade. He didn’t show up at all for the remainder of Matt’s high school years.
Sometimes, Matt would try to forget about him altogether, ignoring the tightness in his chest.
He would practice Russian with a bitterness to each word.
College sped by in a haze of too many beers and countless research papers.
Matt and Foggy were hanging their open sign on their practice before Matt knew it.
Sometimes, Matt would lie on his couch and let the light of the giant billboard illuminate his features as he wondered where the Russian was now.
He didn’t mean to become a vigilante. It just sort of happened. He could hear the screams of the night echoing behind his eyelids and he just knew he had to do something about it.
He never thought it would get this big, never imagined the leads buried so deep in the ground that would lead him all to one man spearheading crime in Hell’s Kitchen.
But he had to go through a few of Fisks’ lapdogs before he could get the man alone.
Luckily for Matt, the first dog he has sicced on him is a familiar friend.
“Черт возьми, дьявол. You killed my brother,” the Russian screams. “I’ve got you now.”
The words make Matt’s blood run cold. Not because of what was said, but the voice that said them. He stood there in shock for a moment too long.
A fist connects with the side of his jaw and an explosion of pain brings him back to reality. He automatically switches into fight mode, deflecting the blows with ease.
“Wait - listen to me-” Matt tries to get a word in. The blows don’t stop. He kicks out a leg and causes the Russian to lose balance, toppling to the ground.
“Playing dirty, are we?” the Russian taunts. He scrambles for Matt, grappling him down onto the rough payment. He falls hard on his back, and the Russian quickly straddles him. “Any last words?”
“Volodya,” Matt breathes out. The man falters. “Сколько лет, сколько зим.”
“Matvey?” the Russian whispers, going stock still.
“You never came back,” Matt says, voice raw, “Why didn’t you come back?”
Before Vladimir can answer, there’s a gunshot, and suddenly the Russian falls forward.
“Vladimir? Volodya? В чем дело?” Matt asks desperately. He gets no response. He lifts a hand to Vladimir’s neck to check for a pulse.
He focuses on his surroundings once more, counting the number of approaching footsteps. He can hear the crackle of police radios, and he knows they’re fucked.
After a stunning display of Matt’s athletic abilities, the vigilante scoops up Vladimir, ignoring the blood smearing on his clothes. He starts to make a break for the nearest building to offer them both some cover, ducking inside and hauling Vladimir with him.
He tries to set the Russian down gently, but his back slams a little too hard on the concrete floor.
“Fuck,” the Russian says weakly, coughing a wet, full-body cough. It causes the pain to shoot up nd pulse through his entire left side. “What happened?”
“The cops showed up, you got shot,” Matt says point blank. “I need to stop the bleeding or you might die.”
“Not what I meant,” Vladimir replies, wincing. “What happened to you?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Matt shoots back. He stands up to go scrounge around the warehouse, coming back with a roadside assistance kit. He carefully removes one of the flares and shoots a glance back to the Russian lying on the floor. “This is probably going to hurt like hell.”
“Been through worse,” Vladimir chokes out, blood bubbling up and onto his lips. He sucks in a sharp breath. “Might want to move fast.”
Matt settles down next to him again and begins rolling up his shirt.
“Why didn’t you come back?” Matt asks again, much more gently this time.
“Are we really doing this now?” Vladimir says with a wheeze. Matt lights the flare.
“Yeah, we’re really doing this now.”
“My dad-” Vladimir paused as another rough cough racked his body, “My dad was killed.”
“You could’ve at least, I don’t know, called,” Matt ground out.
“I was in prison,” Vladimir replies simply. Matt lets out a breath and begins burning the bullet hole closed. Vladimir’s hand shoots out and grips Matt’s arm, fingers digging in so hard they nearly cut through the fabric of Matt’s compression shirt.
“What were you in prison for?” Matt asks as the stench of burning flesh permeates the air.
“Killing my dad,” Vladimir says through gritted teeth.
“Well, that’ll do it,” Matt reasons. “Did it ever occur to you that there’s more to life than crime?” He finishes with the flare and snuffs it out. Vladimir exhales sharply.
“Playing moral high ground while I bleed out, very nice, Matvey.”
“You’re the one who decided to become a mobster.”
“Just picking up the family business,” Vladimir replies.
“Is that why you came to visit? So your dad could make deals in Hell’s Kitchen?”
Vladimir averts his gaze, then closes his eyes as he takes deep, measured breaths. Against better judgment, Matt flops onto the ground next to him and tries to catch his own breath.
“You’re mad at me,” Vladimir points out.
“I’m mad at the life you’ve been dealt.”
“I chose my own path, this is my own doing,” Vladimir says.
“Did he at least deserve it?”
“Who?” Vladimir asks. Matt hesitates for a moment.
“Yes,” Vladimir says without missing a beat. “He was a vile man.” Matt nods. He stretches his arm out and his finger brushes along Vladimir’s calloused hand. They stay like that for a few moments, breathing in the smokey air of the warehouse and letting their hands linger just a little too close.
“We have to get out of here,” Matt says finally. He sits up and turns to assess his companion. “This building is directly over an entrance to the sewer, if we can get down to it and open it then we might have a chance at escaping.”
“Lead the way,” the Russian says.
Matt nods and stands up. He leans down and loops an arm around Vladimir, helping him stand.
“Let me know if you need to take a break or-”
“Just get a fucking move on.”
The two men try to stealthily pick their way through the warehouse as they make their way down to the sewer entrance. The giant concrete lid is the only thing separating them from freedom. With their combined effort they’re able to lift it.
“After you,” Matt says, gesturing for the Russian to go first. He complies and shimmies down the ladder. Matt follows swiftly. They’re greeted by two of Fisk’s hired guns. Matt takes care of them without much issue and lets their guns clatter to the ground.
“This should connect to a main line that runs all the way back to my apartment. It’s only a few blocks, so we should be able to make it before any more of Fisk’s men get to us.” Even as the words left Matt’s lips he could hear the footsteps echoing down the concrete tunnel. They’re moving closer, and they’re moving fast.
“I think… this is where we part ways,” Vladimir says, voice thick with exhaustion. He leans down and picks up one of the discarded guns. “I can hold them off while you-”
“No.” Matt’s tone leaves no room for argument.
“Пожалуйста, Matvey,” he replies, “Let me do this for you.”
The footsteps grow louder.
“We don’t have time for this Vladimir, I’m not letting you kill yourself. Just cover us.”
In one smooth motion, Matt picks Vladimir up bridal style and slings the gun out so Vladimir can aim it over his shoulder. Then, they set off.
Vladimir wakes with a splitting headache and a stabbing pain in his side. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows cast a blinding glare. Vladimir has to shield his eyes to take in his surroundings.
It doesn’t take a genius to deduce he’s in Matt’s apartment, laying out on his shitty couch.
There’s rustling over near what he assumes is the kitchen.
“Finally awake?” Matt calls. He stands from where he was crouched rifling through the fridge. He’s just wearing a pair of sweats, bare chest exposed to the morning air. Vladimir has to hastily avert his eyes.
“How long have I been out?”
“The better part of three days. Claire - the woman you kidnapped - removed the bullet and stitched you shut. You owe her big time,” Matt says. He turns to the sink and begins filling a glass with water. “She left some meds to help, and suggested you take it slow on the food intake.”
Matt crosses the room and sets the glass of water on the coffee table along with a few pills. He takes a seat in an armchair opposite the couch. Vladimir sits up with effort and takes the medicine.
“You're welcome. You’re lucky you found me. Fisk was definitely going to dispose of you next if I didn’t do it for him.”
“About that…” Vladimir starts slowly, “How do you do all of the - the fighting and everything - if you’re blind?”
“There are other ways to see,” Matt replies cryptically.
“That,” Vladimir points at Matt, “Is a bullshit answer.”
“What, do you want to tell me I was trained by a blind man in martial combat and learned to tune into my other sense so I could truly perceive my surroundings?”
“Yeah, but it sounds fucking crazy!”
“So does a fourteen-year-old going to prison for killing his father, life is just like that sometimes.”
“Am I going to hear the story behind that one?”
“It is not for the faint of heart.”
“I’m not squeamish,” Matt replies defensively.
“It’s hard to talk about, for me,” Vladimir explains.
“Then let’s not talk about it,” Matt supplies. Vladimir offers him a weak smile. “I was thinking of making some eggs and toast. Want any?”
“Sounds great,” Vladimir says.
Matt stands and walks back into the kitchen. The sound of opening cabinets, rustling through spices, lightly clinking pots and pans, and the steady rhythm Matt was humming fill the air. Vladimir sinks back into the couch and can’t help the soft smile that stays on his face.
Matt knew the arrangement wasn’t perfect. He knew that one day they’d have to face the consequences of Vladimir’s actions. But for now, he could hold onto what they have, and worry about the rest later.
