the devil's in me

Matt Murdock, 34. Lawyer, Altar Boy. Definitely not Daredevil. Sometimes, I think I accomplish m o r e with my fists than with my law firm. Sometimes, I don't really care. "Fear can be overcome, if you have the will."

[notdaredcvil]

foggyavocado:

Foggy wasn’t freaking out – he was understandably concerned with the riot happening on the other side of the bar. That was reasonable! He and Matt had crashed some major parties, both high class and of the fraternity-variety, but he’d never seen anything unravel this quickly. If it weren’t for the screams and the sound of breaking glass on the other side of the bar, it might’ve felt like they were back in college. In fact, it still sort of did. The past and present blurred spectacularly for a moment.

“I still blame you,” Foggy shot back, but he was grinning somehow too. He always felt better with Matt by his side. “How exactly are you so calm about this?” he asked, flinching when he heard something shatter against the front of the bar. He waited a moment, then reached up a hand, and grabbed the first bottle he touched, pressing it towards Matt. “There you go, for later,” he said. “Consider it a preemptive thank you, if you manage to get us out of this,” he said, peering over the top of the bar. The crowd had gone into full frenzy mode, everyone was screaming so loud it was unintelligible. Some people were throwing fists – the lawyers of the city were going to be busy after this for sure. He could count at least twelve cases for assault, and maybe a slander case or two. He ducked back down, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Good,” he said, nodding to Matt. “All right. Elevator it is. I have no idea what we’re supposed to do once we get to the roof, but they don’t call me Foggy ‘Guts’ Nelson for nothing,” he said, taking a breath to steel himself. “Hold onto me,” he said, standing up. “Here goes nothing.” 

Judging by the current pounding in Foggy’s chest, he was going to start freaking out in less than five minutes unless Matt came up with an amazing plan to get them out of there. That being said, his amazing plans were typically of the variety that Foggy would absolutely, one hundred percent have a coronary at the mere thought of. What Matt considered a perfectly adequate response would not be the same as what his best friend would prefer, but maybe in this situation, they needed a little more Daredevil than Matt Murdock.

“I’ve dealt with mobs before,” Matt said with a small shrug. “Literal criminal mobs, but angry mobs too. Worst thing that happens tonight is I get a bottle smashed on my head, and that ranks low on the list, honestly.” Even without waiting to hear his friend’s response, Matt knew that definitely wasn’t going to calm him in the slightest. Matt laughed when Foggy passed him the bottle, taking it with a nod of his head. “I am also the Man Without Fear,” he said, “and a little drunk.” The latter, out of all his arguments, was definitely the reason why he wasn’t feeling even a modicum of nerves at this point. “If I manage to get us out? Your distrust offends me, Nelson. When have I ever let you down at a party before?” Matt pushed himself up from the ground, brushing down his suit pants, and then took Foggy’s arm. “Go around the periphery,” he told him lowly, “stay close to the wall. Left wall, preferably.” Once they got to the elevator, Matt pressed the button and stepped in. “Count to fifteen and go to the roof,” he told Foggy, shrugging off his suit jacket, dropping it in the corner. “I can’t do elevators. They mess with my ears.” At that, he pushed himself up using the handrail and pressed against the ceiling tile, making his way to the ropes above the elevator.

[notdaredcvil]

foggyavocado:

Matt, Karen, Frank, Foggy – they were all tied up in each other. It was a hell of a story, but when you were living it, it felt more like a nightmare. Everything had gotten so tangled up and twisted around, the bond that used to keep them standing had become the thing choking them – and Foggy hadn’t known what else to do but walk away. To issue the final ultimatum. A part of him had hoped it’d shock Matt, that it’d knock him out of whatever madness overtook him during the Castle case, that he’d never really let Foggy walk away. But he had. “Yeah, she’s not the only one,” Foggy whispered, picking up the empty bottle of eel and toying with it. Just to give his hands something to do. “You’ll have to tell me sometime,” he said, glancing over at Matt. “Maybe not right now. Considering we’re unpacking a lot and I’m fairly certain my head will explode if we go too much further into the twilight zone.” 

Life was never meant to be this complicated. He knew he was signing up for a different life than his parents when he went to law school, but he thought it would be trials, not vigilante murderers coming back from the dead after those trials. He thought his biggest fights would be in the court room, not trying to convince his partner and best friend not to risk his life every night. He wished walking away had been as simple and clean a break as he imagined it – but he couldn’t deny that even when they weren’t speaking, he’d been thinking about Matt. Wondering if he was okay. If he was alive.

Foggy inhaled, held his breath while Matt spoke. He wanted to understand, but the world Matt described – that wasn’t his world. He didn’t hear everything, he didn’t see a world on fire. He saw a world that could be changed from inside the system, a world that had so much potential, even with all the crazy things happening every single day. Their lives had almost been normal once – or at least, they had seemed normal once. “I’m not saying it’s a bad goal,” he said quietly, setting the bottle down. “I just – I hope you know everything you’re getting into, everything you’ve been into. Because yeah, maybe it’s God’s plan or something, or maybe it’s just – ya know, a freak accident. Maybe none of this really is your responsibility. You can’t fix the whole world by punching out bad guys.” But it was a foregone conclusion at this point. Matt Murdock was stubborn as hell, and there was no stopping him once he set his mind to something. “You’re not that person,” he said quietly. “You’re not. I just don’t want you to be a dead person, either. Martyrs get a nice mention in the history books, but they don’t ever seem happy.”

He leaned back, holding onto the bar to keep his balance. The reality was starting to hit him, settle into his stomach like a heavy weight. Really, that worry had never gone away. Foggy could pretend that with enough distance, he could forget, but how did you forget a guy like Matt Murdock? You just didn’t. “I knew she was bad news,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t I say that? I said that, I know I did.” His brow furrowed, and he bit his lip for a moment. “So if she was… helping you with this, if she knew about it all –” A fact that stung, just a little bit. Not only was Matt getting laid while Foggy wasn’t, but this random girl had known things about his best friend that Foggy wouldn’t find out for years. “Then what happened? Why did she leave?” he asked, because he’d never gotten a straight answer before. “Fair enough,” he whispered. “But you’re… okay, right?” he asked, a tiny note of desperation in his voice. 

It was like the decision to forgive had already been made. The second they walked in here maybe, or maybe it happened months ago. Maybe it happened the day after Foggy walked away, and he’d just been too angry to see it. But Matt was right – they were kind of married to each other. They were always going to be in each other’s lives, for better or worse. “Actually,” he said. “I got married yesterday. To Sharon Carter, remember her?” But his joke didn’t land any better than Matt’s, there was too much at stake right now. Foggy reached out, clasped a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You’re a mess,” he agreed. “Like, eighty percent of the time. But hey, some girls dig that. And I’ve never seen anyone as passionate as you, Matt. You’ll figure it out,” he said firmly, like he was making a promise. 

He was making a lot of promises in his head right now, couldn’t find the words to say them aloud. All he knew was, he was in this now. This weird, crazy life his best friend was going to live. Foggy couldn’t stop him from going down this path, but maybe he could make sure he wouldn’t walk it alone. “I was being polite,” Foggy said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We are going to be very, very sorry tomorrow morning in court.” He shook his head, tried to process this brand new twist, and just sighed heavily. “I knew she was trouble. I mean, hooray for beating death and all, but…” He didn’t know how to feel about Elektra. She had broken Matt down completely in college, and when she returned to his life, she did it again. She left a wake of destruction in her path, but Matt fell for it every time. “And your heart?” he asked, biting his lip. “Does that mean you two are… you know, back together? Because as your newly reinstated best friend, I have to make my disapproval known.” Not that it’d make much of a difference – and it was hard to deny something that would make Matt happy, even if it was fleeting.

Maybe all happiness was fleeting. After all, most people didn’t get a second chance at life. Once death took you, that was it. Maybe you just had to take what you could get while you had the chance – and this felt like a chance. Foggy let out a long breath, not quite a sigh, just a moment to breathe. “Okay,” he said softly. “But you can get it, right? Why this would feel… the way it feels.” Neither of them had ever been great at talking about their feelings. Personally, he blamed society, for making men feel like the only emotion they were allowed to feel was anger. But he and Matt were more than just anger, they were more than negative, violent emotion. They had whole worlds inside them, and maybe Foggy wouldn’t ever understand every part of Matt’s world… But he’d sure as hell try. 

They were both desperate tonight. Desperate to hang onto each other, even when the world wanted to rip them apart. Desperate to make each other understand everything that had been going through their minds during the Castle case, and maybe even before that. There was a lot of history to unravel, but Foggy felt like his feet were on solid ground for the first time during this conversation. “Then I guess we gotta stop lying to ourselves, huh?” he whispered, feeling the magnitude of it all hit him like a tidal wave. “I can take care of myself, you know. I helped an Avenger take down a whole group of street thugs the other night. On accident, and mostly I just cowered, but still,” he said, biting his lip again. He closed his eyes tight, but realistically speaking, he knew Matt was just being honest. “Okay,” he said again. “That’s what I needed to hear. Josie!” he called, holding up the bottle. “We’re gonna need another one of these to go, all right?” Josie rolled her eyes, but slid another bottle towards them. Foggy turned back to Matt, and stood up, enveloping him in a tight hug. “You’re a stupid asshole,” he muttered, voice muffled by Matt’s shoulder. “I needed to say that at least once. But fact is, you’re my stupid asshole, so – your place or mine to continue this little catch up?” 

In many ways, it felt as if Matt’s life in between training with Stick, going to college and where he was now had been stalled. When he wasn’t out fighting the war that his mentor had trained him to fight, it was as if he was just biding time, like he could breathe in but that breath just got stuck in his chest. When he was out as Daredevil, he was alive in ways that he could never imagine. He was helping people, he was hearing the people of Hell’s Kitchen, the place that he loved, the place that loved him, thank him for what he was doing, call him a hero, trust him that he would protect them against anything, even if the fight was stacked impossibly against him. Matt wished that he was the kind of person who could find life in his day job, but he wasn’t. He doubted he would ever be.

“Agreed,” Matt said, raising his hand to Josie for the last drink of the night, grateful that at least the conversation about Frank would be stalled for the meantime. There was plenty to discuss regardless, and what the Punisher had done or would do in the future was tied up intrinsically to both of them, a problem that wouldn’t go away anytime soon. They could leave it on the back burner for one night, Matt was sure of it.

Matt nodded, listening to Foggy with the same respect as he had given him. “I see perfectly clearly, Foggy,” he replied. “I’ve seen everything that goes on in this city, or at least the scum that’s under the surface. I’ve heard it bleeding out every single night. Maybe if everything was quiet again, maybe if I could put my head under my pillow and tell myself nothing was happening, things would be different. But I can’t hear a woman screaming on the street and convince myself not to go out and help her. I can’t hear a kid crying and not want to go and be what I’ve always been.” At the beginning, it had been as simple as that. Helping people, individuals, and making them feel safer. Then the mobs came. The gangs. Navigating the politics of Fisk’s criminal empire, and getting tangled in it all the way down. Now, Matt knew he couldn’t be a half measure. He needed to be a hero, and that was exactly what he was going to do. “That’s why I’m not only the Devil,” he said, keeping his voice low, not that anyone was listening in Josie’s anyway. “I’m the lawyer, too. Two sides, same coin. I can’t have one without the other.”

He knew what Foggy was worrying about, because he had been in the same position. He had watched his father get down further and further into the rabbit hole. Even if Matt had only been a kid, he understood what it meant. Jack was never pleased with good enough, and eventually, it got to a stage where he couldn’t say no. Being a lawyer was first and foremost, Matt still believed in the system, but there were gaps in that system that only Daredevil could fill. “You said that a few times,” Matt said, smirking despite himself. “She figured it out, Foggy. I couldn’t deny it, and I trusted her. Still do.” Despite the overwhelming evidence that he probably shouldn’t, he bet that he always would. “I told you, it was complicated,” he said. He took a breath, and then, “Her father died. Things changed. She changed, I changed. And then one night, I realised just how much, and she left. I don’t know where she went, she never told me.”

Okay was a relative term, and one that Matt doubted had ever applied to him - at least it was in the same realm as fine. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Better than I’ve been in a long time.” Most of that was down to the fact that even though Foggy was clearly creaking out, his friend was still standing in front of him - or sitting, on the barstool - and it sounded as if that desperation, that emotion, was translating itself into a bridge between them. “Sharon?” Matt repeated, smoothly covering up the fact that he almost choked on his vodka. “Yeah, yeah, I remember her. Nat’s friend. Nice girl, besides threatening to stab me in the head.” And aiming the knife towards it. And throwing it.

Foggy had always been better at holding onto people than Matt had, at repeating and appreciating what he had and not pushing it away. Maybe that was because he understood that he deserved it, because he saw his own worth, or maybe it was just the entire being of Foggy Nelson that encouraged people to stay. Matt was willing to bet it was a bit of both. “Hey, maybe you’re fucked, but I have an open and shut grand auto case. I’ve been working on that bad boy for a month. There’s no way the judge is giving us anything but guilty.” And then, the conversation moved to something far less open and shut, possibly the furthest from it. “My heart is complicated,” Matt sighed. “I don’t -- no. I mean, I don’t think so. She just came back, and she’s working things out, and I …” Luckily, Foggy kept talking, even if it was expressing his disapproval. “Noted,” Matt said, smile pulling on the corner of his mouth. “Not every day you get to have a conversation like this about one of my exes, right?”

Matt nodded again, feeling as if this entire night he had just been a poor imitation of a bobblehead, all things considered. At least they were on the same page now, though, instead of crying in his apartment or screaming in the bathroom of a courthouse, Karen outside wondering what the hell was going on. “I get it,” he said and then, to prove that point, “Dad.” Matt knew what it was like to worry. He knew what it was like to hear that gunshot and know something had happened, that deep, writhing dread in his gut. He knew how his dad’s blood felt on his hands, same way as Foggy knew his. At least in Matt’s case, he was doing something to help people.

“Which Avenger? If you say Hawkeye, I’m finding a new best friend. I’m taking that reinstated status and shoving it broadside up your ass.” It was all said with a joking tone that was rarely hard for Matt to access when he was in Foggy’s company. Girlfriends and tragic loves aside, there was something to be said for the simplicity of a best friend - even if it came with its fair share of complications, too. “Another one? Are you sure we’ll be able to feel our legs if we drink that on the way back?” Matt said with a bright laugh following his words. It was as if the world had lifted itself up off his chest, and he was loving every second. When Foggy barrelled into him, Matt didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around him too. After all, he had heard him coming. “You’re worse than a mother,” Matt replied, fondness seeping through every word. “Depends on who has more booze. Plus, you can’t sleep on my couch, and I’m not getting a bad back before tomorrow. Billboard, you know.”

[notdaredcvil]

foggyavocado:

“No, you thought magic was a lie you tell children and old people. I argued that magic is a pleasant concept of fun, though I conceded it was not entirely sustainable,” he said, laughing with Matt. He couldn’t help himself. Foggy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you forgot the TARDIS argument,” he said, laughing again. “Though I gotta say, that was one of your finest moments as a wingman. Marci wasn’t thrilled, but I looked like quite the hero when I cleaned it up and sent you home in a taxi.” 

Foggy smirked too, grinning as Josie flipped Matt off (again), and glancing back just in time to see Bob acquaint Paul’s face with the bricks. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” he said, wincing sympathetically. He motioned Josie over, and told her to send some rounds over there, for all three of them. “Nothing fixes domestic strife like alcohol,” he quipped.

He shook his head, remembering that day. It wasn’t a pleasant memory, but if they’d hit the point where they could joke about it, then Foggy was happy. “You see, this is why Josie loves me more. I would never accuse her of crying,” he said, beaming at her. She flipped him off, too. Everything felt normal again, like they’d stepped into a TARDIS and gone back to when things were simple. But of course, nothing was. There were demons outside the window, and Doom’s party coming up, and they were stuck in some kind of crazy hell dimension. “Can you blame a guy for chasing what he wants though?” he countered, playing devil’s advocate. (It felt very literal this time around.) “I mean, he did just prevent us all from starving. And if he’s keeping the booze flowing here, it’s hard to argue against that.” He tapped his fingers on the bar, nervous because he felt what Matt was saying. Something felt strange, but this was how he tested his own thoughts. Arguing against them, to see what Matt would say in response. “You know how Reyes always gave us the creeps?” he whispered, leaning in. “It feels like that. But maybe he’s just another politician on someone’s payroll, I don’t know.” He laughed, suddenly surprised that Matt didn’t know everything going on in his life anymore. “Actually, I left Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m at Stark Industries now. Finally. Proved myself by taking care of this little issue with a dermatology company.” 

“I thought magic was disrespectful to the role of God,” Matt corrected, though his smile was growing nonetheless. “You’re making me sound as if I’m the kind of guy that goes around punching Santa Clauses in the face on the run-up to Christmas, or tells kids the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. I’m nice, Foggy. Kids love me.” The majority of the time. Matt wasn’t entirely sure what he felt about kids in general. Once they got past the baby stage, they were great, but when they were still beans swaddled in blankets, their screams were enough to drive him demented. “It was all planned from the very beginning of the night, buddy. I told you I’d get you laid that night, and I delivered, didn’t I?”

Honestly, Matt was surprised that Josie’s finger hadn’t flung away from the rest of her hand at some point with the ferocity that she flipped him off regularly. It was something that never got old, though, pretending not to see it, relying on Foggy’s whispered confirmation that yes, the bartender was sick of Matt’s shit already. “I think on the other hand, nothing quite causes domestic strife like alcohol,” Matt mused, “but maybe I’ve just spent too long in prosecution law. They’ve changed me already. I’m not the man you once knew.”

It was getting easier every single time they met each other to laugh like this, to joke, to rely on each other, to tell each other about their days and where their careers were going. The fact that they weren’t together on it anymore didn’t even carry the same sting as it had a year ago when the firm massively imploded in on them. In fact, it felt as if for the first time in a long time, Matt wasn’t holding Foggy back from anything, or lying to him, or affecting his life on a daily basis. He had told him on the night when it all ended that he wasn’t going to apologise for who he was. Of all the things that he had said, that was the one that he would stand by. Now, it seemed as if he didn’t need to. “Crying is a normal human response. Men cry. Even Paul cries. He’s crying right now!” Matt shrugged, taking a drink, though it was clear he didn’t agree with that. “I go a lot by gut,” he said, “and right now, my gut is telling me that Doom is keeping a lot of things back.” Of course, that was what presidents did, but it felt more Reyes-like than anything else. “Exactly like that,” Matt hummed in agreement. “Wait, hold up. You’re working with Stark? Like, Iron Man Stark?” Matt laughed, leaning back on his barstool. “You never fail to surprise. What had you changing companies?”

[notdaredcvil]

unsafestars:

Although Elektra had never offered an honest explanation of how she had known Matt was Daredevil, he hadn’t pressed the matter. At the time, he had just been looking to get rid of her. He didn’t push or pry because anything she had to say was unimportant unless it led to her next departure. Elektra did know Matthew’s physique exceptionally well, and the part of his face left bare would be enough for her to ID him if given a good enough look. But it was his movements, the fighting caught on camera and broadcast on local news that left no question in her mind that the man she had once seen fight with a scarf wrapped around his face was Matthew. She didn’t think about his failed rescue attempt of her father very often, but in retrospect, it was foreshadowing. At the time, she’d thought it was her alone that emboldened him enough to risk his life. Ultimately, he might have done the same for anyone.

It took a decade, but she proved that she was willing to die if it meant protecting him. Even if she had been looking towards a future where she fought to protect others, she’d still had a long way to go before she got anywhere near a typical hero’s level of morality. Because it was him, she could take a fatal blow from a sai. He believed in her ability to be good but she doubted she would ever do the same for a stranger. Yes, she could fight off a robber in an alley, or make sure men trailing behind a woman at night would regret ever leaving their homes. That didn’t require sacrifice, and after everything Matthew had given up to be Daredevil, it certainly seemed that sacrifice was an essential part of what he and many others did.

“Alleys are full of them,” she said by way of explanation. Demons and other foes did like to congregate in alleys, she wondered if someone else had kicked trashcans at wrongdoers. “What an adorable metaphor to employ while describing the way you regularly allow your stab wounds to become infected.” All of the education she accumulated as she followed the path to one day become a lawyer was useless 90% of the time. She wondered if she should have set her sights on medicine instead. “I wish anything that tries the best of luck.” Elektra and Natasha had similar skill sets but they were nothing alike as people. Still, if a third party was to assume Matt had a type, they might not be wrong. “Oh, Matthew. You went about this lawyer thing completely the wrong way.” She was certain that had her life continued on the intended path, she would be partner at a high powered firm by now. The youngest in their history. “But speaking of French wine, you should look out for a package within the next few days. I’d be very put out if you allowed one of your neighbors to steal my gift.” She would love it if she didn’t regularly have nightmares about her resurrection, but she supposed that was part of the deal. “Coming back to life was a tad disorienting, I may have missed a ninja or two.” Her thoughts hadn’t been on revenge, just on escape. Her work had been less thorough than normal.

She let a soft self-deprecating laugh slip before looking up at the ceiling. “Not everyone was thrilled by the decision to bring me back. And I’m sure that would be the case no matter their resources, but I think I was something of a last ditch effort. A better bet than one of their own who had already died.” It could be flattering, if she wasn’t already tired of being treated like something to be wielded against others. “They don’t have the means to bring anyone else back.” Since she had failed to take them down with Matt, it was a comfort to know she could do them this blow. When he mentioned small mercies, she felt hopeful. Because she’d already been dealt one, for once she believed that they were real. "Never. Everyone knows I have extremely discerning tastes.” She dropped down onto the sofa beside him, reaching out to quickly pinch his chin between her thumb and index finger. Elektra intended to drop her hand but then he had to go and deny all that he had accomplished. Instead, she ran her thumb along his jaw, always much better at conveying sincerity through touch than with her words. “You did the best you could. Better than anyone else could have.” And truly, even after her more recent run ins with other do-gooders, she believed that. “Would you accept less boring?”

Matt had learned a long time ago that there was a certain comfort in secrecy, in lies, in half-truths. There was a reason he had kept his abilities a secret from everyone, even his father, after all. The feeling that he got, the vindication that he felt, when he walked into a situation with an ace up his sleeve was incomparable. People had constantly underestimated him, Fisk and Frank included, and he had proven himself against them time and time again. The only person who had seen him for exactly who he was from the very first day was Elektra. In college, she had known what he was, what he could do. She had tested him, pushed his boundaries, and was an instrumental part in who he was today.

In many ways, Elektra was just as much a part of Daredevil as Stick was, as Jack Murdock was, as the city was. Knowing more than everyone else in the room, having a secret to keep, was fun for a time, but there was nothing more truly rewarding, more exhilarating, than fighting with someone who was your equal and better in many respects. Elektra was deadly, she was honed to a sharp point, and she found him worthy of trusting without question. If someone on the outside looking in was to comment, they might have said Matt was mourning true understanding just as much as the woman he loved. In reality, though, it was far more complicated.

“Oh really? I must keep an eye out for them,” Matt deadpanned. “Melvin’s working on something for that, actually. We tried out a spray for a bit, but I got resistant to it.” Most antibiotics at this stage were useless, Matt had found, especially against weapons employed by some of the more interesting of his rogues’ gallery. “I wonder if the demons pass on warnings by word of mouth,” Matt mused. “Have you had any other run ins since? They might have town hall meetings. Strategy sessions.” Matt had to laugh at that, if purely for the fact that so many had said it to him in the past. “Who can argue against the fact that we get a free lunch once a week, though? Thursday buffet is a treat.” It was far from what most of his colleagues desired, but Matt had never been particularly concerned with money. “Is there an occasion, or are you just grateful for my company?” Matt asked, though he was secretly pleased at the idea of a wine he didn’t need to grin and bear.

The Hand, like Stick, had thought themselves capable of controlling Elektra, which only went to show how little they knew of her. Her strength was not only in her weapons, or her training, or her aptitude. It was everything about her, and that was what they would never understand. “I was thrilled enough to make up for it,” Matt said, but it came out less like a joke than he had expected, potentially brought about by the tone in Elektra’s laugh. Matt heard the smooth rustle and felt the warmth of her body landing beside him. “I thought you were only with me so I could get you into those fancy law parties,” Matt teased, hand going to her side, and then to where he knew he would find a scar, tracing its outline. “I guess I could make an argument for it,” he said. A comfortable silence fell over, then, which he broke with a soft question. “Are you happy? To be back.”

[notdaredcvil]

unsafestars:

There was something refreshing about fighting for a cause of her own choosing, one that, while she wasn’t passionate about, she at least felt was worth fighting for. Part of Elektra knew, or suspected, that Stick’s feeling towards her and Matt in particular extended beyond the sensei/student relationship he’d cultivated with them both. But he treated them like weapons in his war, one that she hadn’t been looking to join when she sought out the Chaste. Joining the Secret Warriors felt infinitely more important and the people at the helm weren’t full of ancient mysticisms, they didn’t treat their mission like it was the end of the world. Lives were on the lines but they were taking it one person at a time.

It was always nice seeing Matthew caught off-guard. As far as she could tell, nobody made him feel that particular sense of dread quite like she did. Her heart beat would always foretell her arrival but it didn’t give him any warning of when she would drop into his life. She hardly liked admitting it to herself, but sharing a common goal, a team, was reassuring. It was almost impossible for her to ask him what he was doing with his days in a way that didn’t betray her continued interest in his life. At least, in situations like this, she had some kind of idea. There was also nobody else she completely trusted with her life and while she would have to work on her confidence in the rest of the Secret Warriors, it was already embedded in her relationship with both Matt and Daredevil.

“You’d be right. As I recall, your definition is nitpicking and criticism of perfectly well thought-out plans.” Because he’d had the decency to crack a smile after his comment, she reciprocated by shouldering him lightly. They both knew, under any circumstances, their team work was both effective and daunting for whoever they came after. “Vigilante was a broad term, unless you think I qualify. In which case, Daisy didn’t completely lie to you.” Elektra wasn’t trying to stir up trouble, at least not yet, but it was funny to think about. Whether she really belonged among these people. “Oh, yes! Working with me, late into the night, will comfort Foggy to no end.” She assumed Foggy’s approval of Daredevil remained non-existent and the fact that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would once again force the two of them to work together wouldn’t help matters. “Don’t be silly,” she replied immediately, her tone finally devoid of humor. “We were barely getting started, before. And I have to admit, I don’t particularly care if you’re disappointed. There has to be a reason my involvement was kept a secret.” Daisy, whether she was right or not, must not have thought it good news.

Although Stick had left out some of the finer details - and a grand majority of the larger details, as well - Matt had spent a year under his tutelage hearing about a war that had been fought for centuries, and continued to wage across the world right under everyone’s noses. That secrecy, of course, didn’t reduce its danger, quite the opposite. Matt had never got to the stage of his training where he was introduced to the rest of the Chaste, but he had always prepared for it, had assumed that one day he would come face to face with them. That had happened, albeit in a way that he hadn’t expected. Although he had known the Secret Warriors team a short time, they were already preferred. Far less shadows, far less secrets, far less … Stick.

There were few things that were constant in life, but Elektra had always represented at least a few of them. Her heart rate, slow and steady. He had always been so proud if he could get it above sixty a minute, or make it miss a beat. How she moved, the interaction of her expensive perfumes, the moments when Matt was convinced she knew how to get around his radar sense, at least to an extent. Typically, he could hear people coming from five blocks away and prepare accordingly, put on his game face, but with Elektra, that was impossible. She almost seemed to enjoy it, and Matt figured that even if he could hear her coming, he would’ve played into it. She deserved a little enjoyment, same as everyone, more than most.

“Nitpicking by definition helps to close up gaps in those well laid plans, Elektra,” Matt said, though he couldn’t help but smirk, pushing back against her gently when her shoulder nudged his. “Daisy has never lied to me. She just withheld a part of the truth.” Daisy probably could lie to him - that was what her SHIELD training was for - but she had never found a need for it, which he appreciated. “Foggy has already expressed his disapproval, by the way,” Matt said, trying to keep his expression deadpan but failing entirely. “I think he’s scared you might corrupt me. Maybe you should send him a fruit basket, or a bouquet. He likes lilies.” Matt wasn’t quite sure how to describe the feeling that went through him at her immediate response, though relief was somewhere in that zone. “She probably thought that if she brought you up, I’d say yes no matter what,” Matt said, figuring death had to bring some truths to the table, “which, funny enough, would have been the case.”

[notdaredcvil]

quakesjohnscn:

When she was a kid, lost and confused and angry at the world, Daisy hadn’t understood what left Matt glued to his bed some days, unwilling to poke his head out from under the covers. There were moments when she remembered being terrified, sitting in her bed and staring at him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and counting the seconds in between. Too young to grasp the complicated nature of mental health, she’d been terrified that there was something physically wrong, terrified that his chest would stop moving and his heart would stop beating and she’d be back to being entirely and utterly alone with no one in the world who truly wanted her.

As she grew older, she understood that it wasn’t like that. She learned that on those days, Matt didn’t need a doctor, didn’t need to be brought eight glasses of water that she balanced precariously on his bedside table just in case he got thirsty. On those days, she learned, he needed someone to be there. Sometimes, he needed someone to talk, needed to hear the echos of their words and feel the vibrations of their chest. Others, he needed them to listen, to sit in silence as he spoke about how he felt or how he didn’t feel. And then, there were days when he needed neither. He didn’t want conversation at all, but he didn’t want to be alone, either. Daisy learned to do all three, learned to tell what he needed and when.

She got good at being there for him, and in return, he got good at being there for her. When she needed to scream, he let her. When she needed to cry, he threw an arm around her shoulder and didn’t say a word. He was the best at distracting her from whatever terrible situation she found herself a part of, good at keeping her mind off her parents or Lincoln or HYDRA or whatever was breaking her heart at the moment. When they’d had no one else in that orphanage, they’d carved out a family of their own. It was something to be proud of, an accomplishment few could boast.

They both knew it, of course, even if they didn’t always say it. That was the thing about family: you never had to reaffirm that they’d be there for you. They just were, showed up every time you needed them without question. “Until I replace you with someone fancier, maybe,” she teased, though they both knew there was no real danger of that. Few other lawyers would be able to show up without rolling their eyes when she called them at two in the morning requesting bail and fast food. (’They don’t feed you in prison, Matt. I honestly think we should sue!’) “Oh my god, you are so full of shit! Lying is a sin, Matthew.” Like that would stop him! “Is that how you play it in court? I can’t see any judge showing sympathy to that!” 

Daisy rolled her eyes at the grin, huffing and trying not to let her amusement show. “God, I wish there was a secret code. Think of all the time I could’ve saved.” Her life would’ve been far easier if people were easy to read, but that wasn’t the way the world worked. It was unfortunate, but she was sort of used to it. “I guess everyone’s doing it nowadays. Just the thing to do, right?” She glanced up as he spoke, swallowing around a lump in her throat. Could she make that promise? She would’ve brought Lincoln back in a second if she could have. Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed quietly. “Promise you won’t let them do it to me, either?” SHIELD would try. Even if Coulson was willing to let her go, SHIELD would try to bring her back. She’d seen them do it to other agents, seen the way they always came back different somehow. She didn’t want that. At Matt’s tone, the tension slipped from her shoulders. Fucking with Matt always cheered her up a little! “I’m not being suspicious! I’m just saying, I’ve never been brought back from the dead, technically!” 

Matt had never really gotten on with the other kids in school, or at least he had never got on with the boys at school. The girls were a different story entirely, had found him something of a novelty to lead around the halls and listen to him talking about how he was going to change the world with nothing but a few well placed words, fighting for the innocents and defending the righteous. The boys, though, they saw a blind kid with bloody knuckles and didn’t take to him quite as kindly. They called him Daredevil then, too, but the name wasn’t something to be worn with pride or responsibility. It wasn’t whispered in fear by criminals. It was said mockingly, pushing Matt around the playground, asking him what he was going to do about it.

He always enjoyed going into a situation with an ace up his sleeve. He knew that if he had wanted to, Stick’s training would allow him to put those kids on the ground within minutes. He knew that he could end them before they even realised what was happening. But that would mean revealing his secret, and Matt had always been prone to secrecy even when he was a kid. So he had stood down, he had taken the punches that he could see coming even if they didn’t realise that, and he had kept taking it until his little sister had blustered in and sorted the fight out for him. That didn’t make the teasing any less - in fact, it might have just increased it - but every time Daisy showed up, angry and fiercely protective, Matt felt a pounding in his chest, a pride well up in him, and a belonging that he hadn’t felt with anyone else since his dad died.

It was a pretty cool feeling, he wasn’t going to lie. That was why he kept losing the fights, kept waiting for Daisy to show up, kept letting her patch him up. Then the tides changed, quite literally, and Daisy found herself on his sofa while he stitched up her wounds. She noticed that there was something different about him, and he didn’t have the heart to lie to her anymore. She hadn’t seemed irritated about the fact that he had allowed her to fight his battles for him - at least, not genuinely irritated. It had seemed as if everything slowly started to slot into place, as if things made sense.

Matt had never regretted telling her his secret, and he was infinitely grateful that he was able to get it out of his mouth before she stumbled upon it in the same way as Foggy did. For as much as he loved his best friend, Matt knew that things would never be the same considering Foggy had to find out accidentally rather than having Matt trust him. His relationship with Daisy hadn’t been tarnished in that way, and Matt wanted to continue in that same vein. “Fancier? I wear a suit to work. I have an office, with one of those modern art pieces on the desk and everything. You can’t get fancier than this.” The fancy art piece swayed in place, and the sound was driving Matt insane, but he had to keep it now for the principle. “Only if you do it with darkness in your heart,” Matt said, his eternal justification, and a shit eating grin on his face. “Judges don’t need to show sympathy when you have an argument this good, Daisy. I’m honestly offended.”

Bringing people back to life, strangely enough, was not something that Matt had spoken about at length with very many people, Father Lantom included. The Father had his beliefs that he would not be moved from, and Matt didn’t particularly want to push the moral and ethical debate that he had been going through onto any other religious man. Plus, the Hand were dangerous, and despite Elektra’s feelings towards them, Matt was not entirely convinced that they were out of the picture. “Has it been going on for a while, or is this a new thing? I’m pretty sure being risen from the dead definitely would have gotten out before now if it was the former, right?” Of course, secrets could be kept well for as long as someone was willing to lie to preserve them. Matt knew that all too well. When Daisy countered back with it, something that he had honestly been expecting given how well he knew her, Matt hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He drew a cross on his chest with his finger, smiling slightly. “Cross my heart,” he told her. “You’re absolutely being suspicious. You’re doing what I do when I’m trying to get a witness to start sweating. You’re working around the answer, Daisy. What does the ‘technically’ mean, exactly?”

[notdaredcvil]

quakesjohnscn:

When it came to mistakes, Daisy was something of a pro. She’d always been good at messing up, always been good at making the wrong choices even when she thought it was for the right reasons. She’d dropped out of high school the second it presented anything resembling a challenge, left the orphanage to live on the streets even though they would have continued housing her for a few more years if she’d let them. She ran her mouth about SHIELD until they showed up to arrest her (which, though it had ended well, had seemed like a hell of a screw up at the time). She betrayed SHIELD in favor of the Rising Tide, she trusted Ward even when he was shady. She set into motion the events that ended with Lincoln’s death. Daisy was good at mistakes, and she always had been.

Matt was one of the few people who stuck around regardless of how many times she fucked up. She could make a million mistakes, and she knew he’d still open the door every time she knocked on it. After Lincoln’s death, he’d been one of the only people she trusted enough to sit still for, one of the only ones whose couch she could crash on without keeping a constant eye on the door. Daisy had never had much in her life, had had days when it seemed every scrap of good fortune was temporary, but she’d always had Matt. She always would, too. They both knew that.

Honestly, it was why she’d known Matt would accept her invitation to join the Secret Warriors, even if she’d thought she might have to convince him a little first. At the end of the day, he’d be there for her and she’d be there for him. That was just how the world worked. “I mean, have you ever actually watched a Soap Opera? There’s a reason networks keep them running for, like, fifty years, and it’s not the acting! It’s beyond entertaining to see that level of drama, Matt. I’m not gonna deny it.” If Matt’s life was a soap opera, Daisy’s was probably a B-horror film, the kind that came on cable and didn’t realize quite how ridiculous it was. “Exactly! It isn’t my fault English kinda sucks.” It was nice to know that, even when it came to the tiny, insignificant things, Matt was on her side. “Yeah, still don’t know braille. I should probably learn but, you know. Learning.” She shrugged, making a ‘what are you going to do’ sort of motion that Matt couldn’t see but would recognize all the same. “That is a hard trick,” she agreed, because if there was one thing Daisy Johnson sucked at, it was breaking habits. “You do not! What Avengers do you know? And people you’ve dated don’t count! I wanna hear more about the FBI agent, though. Please tell me you made the ‘female body inspector’ joke at some point.” Glancing up at the beams, Daisy snorted. “’Sounds’ like there’s beams. I’ve known you my entire life, and that’s still weird. Let’s get up there, Daredevil. I brought sandwiches!” 

Matt had never really had much experience with family. The other kids came from houses with two parents and six siblings, found themselves at home immediately when they were surrounded by other people. The Avengers that he knew had bonded with their teammates, had formed a wide support network of people that weren’t even connected to them by blood, but were more loyal than most family members Matt had ever witnessed. Matt’s idea of family had always been whittled down to relying on one person and one person only, first his father, then Daisy, then Foggy.

When Karen came into his life, that seemed to change things, and suddenly he had two people instead of one. That in itself didn’t seem too big of a change, but with the many, many times Stick had drilled it into Matt’s head that he could only rely on himself, putting his heart into others had always been difficult. Now that he was being open and honest with most of the people that he loved dearly, things were a lot more simple, and his family was no longer only Daisy. That prospect wasn’t as terrifying as it had been years ago, and he was glad to see that she had people she cared about too, and that no matter how many she had around her, she still found her way back to him in the end, and he did the same thing.

“I’ve watched a few Spanish soap operas,” Matt admitted with a smirk, shrugging a shoulder. “I needed to learn the language, and the professor said that I should immerse myself in the culture. I didn’t pick up much from it besides how to flirt and argue passionately for my husband’s love.” All in all, it hadn’t been the greatest development of transferable skills. “It might’ve been a little entertaining on the outside looking in, but the other way around is exhausting, Daisy!” He was speaking as if she didn’t know the first thing about it, which was really the irony of the whole thing. Normal was in short supply these days for both of them, but for her it had been a whole lot longer. At least Matt had those few years at college to be relatively simple. “English completely sucks. There’s a reason why there are so many loopholes in the law.” Exploiting the gaps in the language was basically what Matt had been trained to do, after all. “Hawkeye,” Matt said, and wow, that did not come out as impressively as it should have. It sounded more like he was asking a question. “I absolutely did not make that joke. Foggy made that joke for me, over my shoulder, on our double date.” Foggy’s date had been more impressed than Matt’s had. Matt grinned at Daisy, lifting his cane up. “Wait until you see this,” he said, sounding a bit like a kid in a candy shop as he released the latch. “Cane turned grappling hook and billy club. Melvin has exceeded himself again. Did you bring those egg and bacon ones?”

[notdaredcvil]

quakesjohnscn:

When they were kids in the orphanage, things like this had seemed like the sort of event only possible for the kind of people they saw on television. The idea of either of them being invited to a gala had been laughable to say the least. Now, things were different. Matt was with the DA, Daisy was with the Panel, and they’d both probably been to more of these things than they’d really enjoyed. Still, they’d both learned how to have fun at them. The mostly empty glass sitting in front of Matt and one in her hand that was in the process of slowly being drained showed just how much fun they could have off the clock.

“You want a boring life, you come to New York. That’s totally the stereotype, isn’t it?” She grinned, shaking her head. “I guess nobody knows how to turn down an invite from the President, huh?” The party was stuffed full of people from all walks of life, from important political figures to small-time criminals. If that didn’t provide an accurate representation of New York, Daisy didn’t know what did. “Oh, please. If there was one thing I learned when I was sleeping on the floor of your dorm room, it was that you can always afford alcohol.” Snorting, she glanced up at the bartender, whose attention had been captured by an angry drunk at the other end of the room. Keeping an eye on him, Daisy leaned over the bar and snatched the closest bottle to her, flashing Matt a grin. “Always take advantage of an open bar, right?” She topped off Matt’s drink and her own before putting the bottle out of sight at their feet for future use. “Oh my god, do you think that’s less sad? It isn’t! Bringing your sister to a party is just as lame as showing up with your roommate.” Maybe even more lame! “You had one date, technically. And she was way out of your league.” She groaned at Matt’s expression, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you lose it? Did you finally lose it? This is so sad.”

Matt figured that if he went back ten or fifteen years and told a younger Daisy and Matt what was going to happen in their lives, they would have raised their eyebrows at exactly the same time, and promptly burst into laughter. Everything that they had been through, everything that they had seen and everything that seemed to be looming on the horizon just waiting to test them was extraordinary, it was unbelievable, and Matt was stuck between wondering what the hell he had done to deserve the insanity, and being grateful for the fact that he was a part of it. After all, he had never seen a fight that he didn’t want to be a part of, always wanted to throw his hat into the ring if he could, and superheroes were the biggest ring the world had ever seen.

“I’ve never heard what outsiders say about us, but just from my meagre experience with the city, I would be inclined to say that’s the truth.” Matt laughed, shrugging a shoulder at Daisy’s question. “He really knows how to sell something, I’ll give him that,” Matt said. It was clear by his tone that he was reluctant to compliment their president in the slightest. Something about the man made him pause, listen just a little more intently to his heartbeat. It was too monotone, he found. As if the man had trained himself to make that the case. All Matt knew was that the man was nowhere near as panicked as Matt would’ve been in his situation, or he was really good at hiding it. “That was free alcohol,” Matt argued. “Foggy may or may not have stolen some crates of beer from the frat and sorority parties. We were only caught once, and there were no witnesses besides me, so …” Matt grinned, lifting his refilled glass to Daisy to cheers to nothing in particular. “Only when your sister’s lame. So I guess you’re right,” Matt teased. Okay, the drink was definitely hitting him now. “I’m not even arguing with you on that. You know Foggy gave me the whole ‘disapproval’ speech again a few days back?” Matt’s grin became more like a smirk, and he leaned towards Daisy, knocking against her shoulder. “You like her, you want to marry her,” he singsonged. No one could say he was completely mature, and Daisy brought out this side of him!

[notdaredcvil]

akagoddammit:

Jessica arched a brow, a smirk playing on her lips despite the fact the tension was so thick she could taste it. “How’s that working out for you?” she asked, the sarcasm clear. It almost disappointed her to hear him agree with her – maybe because she was so used to him pushing back. He had pushed her, but never too fast, never too far. Maybe that’s why it fell apart. Maybe sometimes you needed to push, before you could think too much. 

That’s what always happened to her. Her thoughts were spirals, curling in on themselves, twisting like snakes and writhing until they constricted logic and cut off her airflow. She couldn’t escape her own mind, she knew that intimately. Her body and brain had been a literal prison cell, and even with the jailer dead, she was still locked inside. Things were definitely complicated enough, she’d known that from the day she met him. And still, she was standing here just like that day in Fogwell’s, a part of her hoping that Matt would keep making them complicated. Just to see where that road would lead.

Now it was a road not taken. Because some truths were too hard to face it seemed, even for her. Sometimes she chose to keep denying, because doing something might hurt worse. It was hard to remember now, standing in front of him, why she’d made that choice. But maybe unfinished business was something they’d always have in common, something that would always stand between them.

Or maybe they’d find some way around it. She didn’t know. She was trying not to overthink it. “Your medal’s in the mail,” she quipped, actually smirking this time. It still came so easily with him, even when it shouldn’t have. “A friend, believe it or not,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “She works at the Panel, we met there. Got partnered up, which was not my idea, but… worked out all right in the end.” She paused a second. “And you, now. Since you’ve already agreed to prosecute if I get the evidence.” Another pause, even more strained than the last. She bit her lip. “You got someone on your side these days?” 

He was annoyed with her statement, she could tell immediately, but she didn’t say anything to him. “Colombia’s disability quota had nothing to do with it, I’m sure,” she joked, but she knew it wasn’t even close to goddamn true. He was a hell of a lawyer, she knew that intimately. (And yeah, the irony wasn’t lost on her.) “You couldn’t have found a less depressing way to phrase that?” she asked as they walked up to his apartment. But morbid humor, that was something they’d always share, too. “Got it in one, counselor. Besides, you’ve ‘seen’ my place,” she said, stepping inside. It was still familiar, in a very strange way. Like going back to a park you used to go as a child, seeing the little differences, seeing the things that hadn’t changed at all. “Thought cleanliness was next to godliness though,” she teased lightly. They were both still trying to find the line, the boundary was so blurred now she was afraid she wouldn’t know if she crossed it until it was too late. 

“Better than it was when I struck out on my own, put it that way.” Matt had always been a man defined by his morality. His beliefs were strong in every regard, in every situation, and they were what spurred him on to action. What prevented him from acting too rashly, though, was the presence of other people, people that he trusted, people that loved him keeping him back from making things worse. When Nelson and Murdock was still knocking around, Foggy had acted as that for him, and now, it was the other lawyers at the district attorney’s office that were keeping him in line, at least when it came to his work.

Jessica didn’t seem to need that around her. She worked perfectly self sufficiently (or perhaps not perfectly, but closer than Matt had ever been able to manage). He wondered if she had people, people that served as something like his colleagues did, in her personal life. He imagined that she did, at least from the way she talked about this Panel associate. Her heart pounded just a little harder, affection clear to read from it. One good thing about Matt’s abilities - and a thorn as well, he supposed - was that he was never left in the dark about what people were feeling, at least not entirely, at least not when they were feeling things that their body could demonstrate easily. Twisted emotions, after all, were much harder to demonstrate and comprehend.

“It better be made of gold or platinum, if you’re feeling adventurous.” She mentioned the Panel employee again, this time calling her a friend rather than an acquaintance or someone she had just met. Matt almost smirked at that, but managed to hold himself back. Jessica wore herself down slowly, but it was inevitable that she would open up her heart again. Despite what she thought, she had enough of it in her chest. “By ‘worked out alright,’ do you mean you haven’t killed each other yet? I’m shocked that you can play nice, honestly.” Every word was teasing, even smooth. It was awkward only because of the tension between them, the story there. “Yeah. More someones than I’ve ever had. I’m alright.”

Checking in on each other was what they had done those months ago, after all, why they had made excuses to turn up at each other’s doors and hang out on the sofa, eating Thai food and watching reruns of Judge Judy, because of course that was the only thing that played on daytime television. Back in the day when Matt worked for himself, rather than a nine to five. “They didn’t even know I was blind until the interview,” Matt said. “My teachers went mad trying to get me to work it into the application. I didn’t really see what it had to do with a passion for law, mind you, besides bad puns about justice being blind.” Again, Matt felt the overwhelming desire to roll his eyes, but couldn’t. Such were the ways of the world. “Cleanliness also takes up way too much time, and that is in short supply right now,” Matt said, pushing a large stack of paper off his coffee table onto the floor as evidence. “When they said working for the D.A was going to suck all the life out of my body, I thought they were being dramatic. They weren’t.” Maybe they were even understating what it was really like.

[notdaredcvil]

spidcrgwens:

The Murdock of Gwen’s universe was terrifying in that he was a calm, calculated man. Gwen didn’t think she ever remembered him so much as raising his voice. He had complete control of every situation, smiled with a cold certainty that said he knew exactly how any given confrontation was going to end. He’d seemed inhuman in a way, like he was missing the parts that typically made people feel grief or guilt or anything sympathetic at all. He’d gotten angry, sure, but it was a collected sort of anger, the sort of anger he’d act on in a very deliberate sort of way.

This Murdock seemed different. There was something in his expression at her words, something almost like fear. She’d never once seen that on the Murdock she’d known. He’d never been afraid of her, not even when Gwen was afraid of what she might do to him. Maybe this man was acting, maybe he lacked some of the control of his alternate counterpart, Gwen wasn’t sure. “Uh,” she replied eloquently, searching for a way to get herself out of the situation unharmed. “They totally know! I was lying before. Your jig is up, Muderdock!” She snorted at his stammering. It was an act, right? It had to be an act. “You couldn’t if you tried,” she told him, but her voice shook a little. Gwen liked to pretend she was fearless, but she’d always been anything but.

At his words, Gwen’s brow furrowed and she tilted her head curiously. “Hang on, back up a second. Daredevil? You’re Daredevil? Like, the guy with the horns in Hell’s Kitchen? I thought he was one of the good guys!” Didn’t Peter work with Daredevil sometimes? Was Daredevil a villain? Did he pretend to be a hero to get information or something? Maybe this Matt Murdock shared some of his counterpart’s craftiness after all.

There were rare occasions in Matt’s life when he would consider himself desperate, rare times when he felt as if everything was falling down around him. He had been through more than enough to realise that even when everything changed, even when he was left alone in the rubble, the ground was still underneath him, and life would still go on. The worst thing that could happen was that he would die too, and that wasn’t even that bad either, considering his faith that wavered less now than it ever had, even in the orphanage surrounded by women of the Lord.

Now was one of those times. He searched in her heartbeat for something, anything, that would insinuate she was completely, certifiably insane. Perhaps she was and she genuinely believed in what she was saying, but there was absolutely no jump, nothing that would indicate she was making it up, playing on him, or doing anything of the sort. Matt was about to open his mouth and question her more, when he was cut off - for maybe the first time in recent memory - by her words. “Did you just call me Murderdock?” Matt repeated. “I don’t know what the hell you heard, but those heads on the spikes? That was not me, and neither was the bashed Russian.” Wow, he really wasn’t helping himself.

The confusion seemed to have caught on, and finally, Matt heard her heartbeat jump. “Of course I’m Daredevil!” Matt said, exasperated. “What the hell did you think I was?” Denial was obviously not working in this scenario. He had handled more complicated, testy cases than this in his sleep, but they had never felt quite as personal, which was why it seemed he had lost his touch. “I am a good guy! Most of the time. I try to be, at least.”

[notdaredcvil]

supersoldierwithashield:

Steve laughed, mostly at himself. “Better than sounding like a history book,” he said with a shrug. “Or a greeting card – I get greeting card a lot. I have no idea why and I’m afraid to ask at this point.” It wasn’t just the technology that had changed, or the threats facing the city, or the music, movies, clothes – it was the people. All the other things, they only changed because people had changed. People were almost like foreign creatures to him now, Steve didn’t know what to think sometimes. Every now and then he just stopped and stared down at a crowded street, full of people who walked differently, who talked differently, who thought differently. And he wondered if there was really a place for him in this world anymore. In a lot of ways, he was still just a symbol, this time of the past. And sometimes he felt like an anchor to another time period, slowing down the progress around him. “Your professor’s a smart guy,” Steve said, ignoring his own circular thoughts for now. “Who’s ‘they?’” he asked curiously. “The law? The government?” That probably sounded paranoid. But given the fact that the government agency he’d been employed by tried to kill him and his friends multiple times, he felt entitled to a little tinfoil-hat talk.

He was getting used to the strange imbalance that existed now. Where people knew so much about him and his life and his background, while they were little more than strangers to him. It made him slightly uncomfortable, but he’d been through worse. And mostly the history books were kind to him – kinder than his current reputation, anyway. Which was part of the reason he needed a new gym, one like this that was more… exclusive. But he couldn’t help but wonder why. It was clearly intentional. Murdock preferred to work alone, it seemed. But he’d had a partner before, during the Castle case. Maybe solitude was a new preference, one borne out of necessity.

“It was the opposite for me,” Steve said, the sudden honesty surprising him. “I don’t know, maybe the history books mentioned it, but my dad died before I was born. Figure that’s why ma was so religious, ya know? Nothing brings people to God like grief.” It was maybe an unkind thing to say, not something a ‘hero’ or ‘American icon’ should believe. But Steve hadn’t been the perfect hero, soldier, or icon in a long time. His legend was changing, and maybe that was a good thing. Some things needed to change. He wanted to ask about Murdock’s mother, whether he ever found out what happened to her, but there was a tightness to his voice, the way he glossed over – he figured they were better off letting it lie. “Ain’t that always the way,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “The middle, that’s always the hardest part of anything.” The start of the wars, they were flashy, shiny new uniforms and men kissing their sweethearts goodbye. The end of wars, at least in his day, meant parades and fireworks, singing and dancing long into the night. But the middle? The middle was bleak. Dreary, and full of death. The middle was where they lost more people than they saved, where the ground squished beneath your boots from all the blood, and the air stank with the smell of decay. Murdock was right – those were the moments they needed God the most, and yet, those were the moments it was hardest to find Him.

“A hell of a man,” Steve agreed, smiling at the poster, a little bittersweet in that general sort of way that hit him sometimes. “I would’ve liked to have met him,” he said simply, tearing his eyes away from the poster. He wasn’t sure why it made him feel so sad, why the details were burned into his mind now. “Yeah,” he said. “Not many can.” He’d known Howard only as a bachelor, but the things he’d learned now… It tore him apart. “Good dads are hard to find, especially nowadays it seems,” he mused lightly. Not everything changed for the better. He arched a brow, then shrugged. “You think so?” he asked, tilting his head. Murdock seemed a little reluctant to accept how capable he was – and yet, he eschewed pity in any form. Steve recognized that much, but he didn’t quite understand why. Maybe he was just humble – humility was a virtue, wasn’t it? Steve really didn’t remember much scripture at all.

Steve laughed under his breath, thinking of Phillips. Thinking of Peggy. “They weren’t all bad,” he said, opening his eyes. “But the drills were about building muscle, tolerance, endurance. They weren’t about… this.” He didn’t know what ‘this’ was, and maybe that was part of the problem. He wasn’t a good soldier when it came to orders, but he needed to have goals, clear-cut and defined. Needed to know what to work towards. He watched Murdock carefully for a moment, listening to his story, heart beating for the little boy Murdock had been so long ago. “I know the dark can be loud,” he said suddenly. It was pitch black, and we were moving towards an enemy camp across a field. We couldn’t use our flashlights, couldn’t strike a match, or they’d see us coming.” He remembered it vividly, remembered everything post-serum in crisp, clear detail. “I don’t even know how I knew, but I realized there was someone behind us. Managed to take him down before he could make his move.” He took a breath, realized the memory had actually settled his heart rate. “So, you weren’t always blind,” Steve noted quietly. “I’d say that’s a pretty traumatic loss of function, yeah.” Phrasing it that way, the technical feel to the words, that was another way to cope. Tony always talked most technical when he was upset. Steve had a tendency to start mapping out battle plans when he was stressed. “It’s about taking the emotional, and making it rational,” he said, reaching out to try and understand this. “If everything’s temporary, then the rational response is to let go. Right?” 

“You’re definitely skirting on the safe side of avoiding history book,” Matt reassured him. “They were all pretty bleak. Took out anything interesting that actually happened, replaced it with what they wanted people to know.” Captain America had always been a symbol of hope, patriotism, justice, but he had also been a symbol of honesty. Matt had been sceptical as to how much of that to believe, heroes were still people at the end of the day, but now, he could tell that Steve Rogers was inclined to the truth just as often as his counterpart. It was somewhat refreshing, even to someone who found comfort in secrecy. “Maybe because you were a permanent fixture on them,” Matt said, a grin forming. “You were on my fifth birthday card. And my sixth.” That was weird to think of. “Law professors, probably. He never actually told us who ‘they’ were, but the lecturers were definitely the villains of my story for a good four years.”

Matt hadn’t exactly expected the cynicism in Steve’s face. Of course, he hadn’t really expected anything of the man, had never even considered the chance that he would meet him, but everyone had their preconceptions. Matt wouldn’t be human if he didn’t have some kind of thought about the First Avenger, after all. It made sense, considering the fact that SHIELD had fallen down around the other man, and he had no doubt seen even more horrific things than Matt had and still came out victorious, but most of all, still came out standing. Some days, that was enough of a victory, because it was the only one you were going to get.

“Yeah, they mentioned it.” The nuns had made a big deal of it once one of them recognised that was the case, as if to say ‘look! An orphan that made it!’ Matt decided to keep that particular fact to himself. It didn’t seem like something that would be particularly complimentary. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. I turned to God when Dad died. He turned to God when Mom left. Or died.” Matt shrugged with just one shoulder. Jack had never talked about his wife, had only said that she was too good for him, that anything in Matt worth anything came from her. Matt had assumed, if that was the case, that was the reason why he could never be happy in a good situation, why he always felt the need to run. “Are things different from when you were a kid? With God, I mean? Sometimes I feel like I’m the only self flagellating Catholic this side of the Hudson.”

If Jack had still been around to meet Captain America, everything else might have been different. Matt might not have become Daredevil, scared to put his father’s respect for him out of action, scared to put him in the line of fire. He might ever have become friends with Jessica, if that was what they were now. He might never have returned to Fogwell’s after it was shut down, simply because he wouldn’t need that constant tie to his father, because he would be right there. “Dad would’ve passed out the second you walked through the door,” Matt said, more certain of that than anything else. “Oh, I know so. Maybe if they could tell me where they were hitting me from before time, I could block it. Kinda hard when you’re in the dark.”

There was something in Steve’s voice, though, something like questioning. Matt hoped that he had brushed over it quickly enough that he wouldn’t go through with it. This guy was a legend for a reason, he worked with heroes on a regular basis, and knowing that something was off was basically his job description. “Think about your brain as a muscle, then,” Matt said. “You can exercise it just the same as everything else. You can control what it does, up to a point.” Stick had always reaffirmed that the body was controlled by the mind, and the mind was controlled by the man. Matt had believed in that too, at least until the capital ‘D’ gripped him, and he realised that control could be undermined, too. “Sight is overrated,” Matt replied, in response to the story. “People rely too much on one sense, forgetting the other four, and the sixth - instinct. Just because you were missing your eyes, didn’t mean everything else went out of commission too.” Especially if the serum had affected other aspects of his sensory input as well, which seemed possible. “That’s the question everyone asks. No, I wasn’t always blind. Have been longer than I wasn’t, though.” Matt nodded. “Exactly. The way my mentor put it was even easier to get your head around, though.” Matt cleared his throat, and then said, “‘Get your head out of your ass, Matty, because if you don’t, someone else is gonna shove it even further up.’ Gotta tell you, it was real motivational.”

[notdaredcvil]

sugardonttouchme:

Anna Marie laughed. “Sugar, we all look like that. Trust me, swear on my life,” she said, admiring the smile on his face. It was a little tough to tease out, but worth the wait. It did look tired, all of him did, but she meant it when she said they all looked that way. The whole city. Panic gave way to exhaustion, fear and fury faded to fatigue. She felt it, like this whole dimension was pressing down on their shoulders, trying to get them to bend – or break.

Tonight, she wasn’t gonna break, lord willing and the creek don’t rise. She wasn’t Rogue of the X-Men, she was just lil’ ol’ Anna Marie, apparently a college girl with a complicated family background. She rubbed the back of her neck, always at a loss for how to describe Mystique – the woman wore so many faces, swapped personalities like a sweatshirt, it weren’t easy to get a read on the real person beneath it all. “She’s… she’s complicated, sugar. She could be meaner than a snake in the grass, and I wouldn’t trust her far as I could throw her, but –” She stopped, biting her lip. “She was what I needed. At the time.” When anger and hate and fear was all she knew. When she couldn’t imagine a place like Xavier’s, friends like Ororo, Jean, Kitty, or Hank. People who understood what it was like to be her, but found such good ways to live with it. The Brotherhood had no room for healing, only rage, and she was plumb exhausted of being angry. “So, your turn, sugar. What was he like?” she asked, point blank, but her tone soft enough. “Reckon so,” she said, laughing a little at herself. “Still gettin’ the hang of it myself. Hope it does though,” she mused quietly.

The way he spoke made it sound like he had some experience with it. Course, growing up in the church, that wasn’t all that surprising. Anna Marie hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention during those hours Aunt Carrie dragged her to sermon, spent most of her time fidgeting in the pew counting the seconds. But those moments when everyone would bow their head and pray together, the church entirely silent except for the sounds of crickets outside – Anna Marie knew they were all looking deep inside. Trying to find hope, trying to find themselves, trying to find God. Maybe there was no difference between the three. 

Her first instinct was to deny the idea, to say she wasn’t no good with words – but she stopped herself. “Ya think so?” she asked, turning the idea over in her head. Maybe she could ask the Professor about it, she’d loved stories as a kid. It was one of the few times she could sit still, when someone read to her. Even on the streets, she’d gone to libraries, fished books out of the gutters, hoarded them when there was precious little space in her bag. “Don’t really know what I’m doing with it all, ya know? Guess I reckoned I’d figure it out as I went along.” She laughed at the statement, agreeing wholeheartedly. “Good thing we were cute as buttons then,” she said, flashing him a broad smile. Even if he couldn’t see it, maybe he’d feel it. Smiling was about as close as she could get to someone nowadays. She tilted her head, considering what he was saying. She understood, but she’d never experienced somethin’ like that. Maybe early on, on the commune, but after that, after the commune – she ain’t never been treated the same since. “Gotta take your lumps with your sugar,” she said finally. “That’s all ya can do, right?” 

She wasn’t sure which one of them she’d call luckier. Ain’t neither of them had an easy time of it. But it had to count for something, both of them standing tall tonight, right? She sure hoped so – it was all she had to hold onto. Sometimes she wished she’d paid more attention during those sermons. Maybe there were more answers there than she’d thought.

Anna Marie giggled at the exchange, liking Josie more and more, and she let the subject pass. There was so many other things to think about. The bar, the smell of it thick and unashamed, the sounds of the conversations around them, loud and indecipherable. The way the lights played off bottles and glasses, the reflection in his red-tinted glasses. “What was your favorite color?” she asked, leaning on her pool cue. “If ya don’t mind me askin.’ Just wondering what you were like, when you were knee high to a grasshopper,” she joked quietly. “Kids might not think about how colors make ‘em feel, but I reckon ain’t no one care more about colors than kids. Having the wrong color backpack ruined my life when I was nine.”  

Everyone just seemed so at home here. Like everything was just falling into the right place, like ain’t nothing could be too weird to belong. Matt especially. On the street he’d been charming enough, but in here, he was someone else entirely. Like maybe he’d dropped some of the weight off his shoulders for a moment. “Little bit of both, sugar. Ain’t we all got an angel and a devil on our shoulders?” she quipped, laughing with him. “Now that’s some gospel truth right there, I do declare,” she said, walking towards him so she could line up her next shot. “That ain’t exactly what I’d call charm, but I’ll take your word for it.” She had to move dangerously close to him to get the right angle, but maybe that was only in her mind. Her personal bubble had gotten a lot bigger after her powers manifested. “Oh, bless your heart,” Anna Marie laughed, leaning over the table. She took a breath, then took another shot. This time, the cue ball rolled true, sending a ball into the far pocket. “There we go,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I ain’t no pushover, ya know. If you were hoping for an easy hustle, you picked the wrong girl.” 

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” Matt teased, raising an eyebrow as he did so. Last time he had crossed his heart over anything it had been promising Foggy that he wasn’t going to lose his best friend. In some regards, he had achieved his aim to follow through on that promise. He wasn’t dead, for one. In other ways, he had failed monumentally, had pushed his best friend away at the time when they needed each other the most. Matt had been selfish then, hadn’t taken Foggy’s concern seriously because he knew that what he did needed to be done.

Although he was still Daredevil, although Foggy was still showing his displeasure at the entire situation as it stood, Matt liked to think that things were different. He was being open and honest, after all, he was keeping his identity on the down low and therefore preventing anyone in his everyday life from being targeted, and he was working as part of the Secret Warriors, protecting people on a regular basis, and protecting himself at the same time, which he had never paid much heed to before. “Complicated is a regular flavour around these parts,” Matt replied. “Sometimes what we need doesn’t make much sense, but it’s still the truth. I get that.” Matt let out a loud, drawn out sigh. “How to describe my mentor?” Matt began, tapping his finger against the side of the pool cue. “He was harsh as hell. I’m pretty sure he said he was proud of me all of once the entire time I knew him, and he followed it up with ‘for a punk ass kid, at least.’” Matt laughed, despite himself. “He was kind, too. Sometimes. Didn’t like to show it too often, considered it a weakness when he did, but he wasn’t all bad.” Maybe no one truly was.

Matt nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What’s to stop you from doing anything you want to set your mind to? The world is your oyster.” Jack had said that to him once, had declared it in a way that reminded Matt of the man that stepped into the ring to announce a fight. Matt hadn’t had the heart then to tell his father that they could barely afford to get a pint of milk without begging the shopkeeper to take an IOU. Jack had sorted it all out for him, in the end. Matt regretted ever doubting him, though he had done so extremely rarely. “At least that way, you’ll know what feels right when you get there. Sometimes planning everything out just gets you stuck in a box.” Matt, for one, hadn’t planned to be working for the D.A. That had turned up out of the blue, but he was loving his work more and more every day. “All we can do, button,” Matt teased, grin appearing on his face.

“I’m pretty sure it was still red,” Matt admitted. “Not much of an interesting answer, I know. Maybe green. Specifically Central Park, mid July. When the sun used to be blasting down over the grass so hard that it almost seemed to reflect, you know? The colour just lifted up off the lawn.” Kids with their knees painted green from falling over, blood running down to stain their white socks, his dad’s brown chin visible as he napped with his baseball cap pulled over his face. “That’s fair enough, honestly. Kids in the orphanage never got why I didn’t care about it. Even when they knew I was blind, they still wondered why I took the orange pencil instead of the blue one.” Simpler times, all round. “What about you? What’s your favourite?”

Matt laughed, this time something of the humour seeped out of it, but it was a fair imitation all being said. “Tell me about it. Pretty sure the Father is sick of me showing up complaining about them battling it out on a daily basis.” People often laughed when Matt said things like that. They looked at him, wondered what a lawyer could possibly have on his hands besides the typical lying, cheating and scamming clients that the profession was typically associated with. “Did you just go for a shootout against a blind man?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow, mock affront in his voice as he took the cue from her again. “That’s cold. I’m never going to be able to redeem myself, you’ve humiliated me.” He grinned, bending down to angle the cue over the table. “What’s it look like now?” Matt asked.

[notdaredcvil]

unstoppcblewasp:

Law had been a subject taught sparingly in the Red Room. It had been important that agents know what officials might expect from them, but the handlers had always looked to avoid poisoning the agents with any sort of morality, not wanting to waste years of training by having their agents suddenly aware that what they were doing was unequivocally wrong. Of all the things she’d learned with them, this was one of the subjects that had interested her the least. Laws did not equal morals, she’d learned, and many of them, when followed without question, did more harm than good. America’s immigration laws seemed to be among those. Deporting her back to Russia would end in her recapture by the Red Room, a fact she was aware of without doubt, but American authorities cared little for that. They didn’t seem to mind that sending her to Russia was, effectively, sending her to her eventual death. They cared for their law above all else and that, more than anything, was definitive evil.

Matt Modok was different. He was a lawyer, but he didn’t put the law above helping others. He didn’t care that Nadia’s arrival in this country had, technically, been illegal. He was fighting to stop the law from sending her back to Russia, trying to help her in a way few people ever had. He was proof that not everyone who fought for the law was bad. “You seem like you’d be good at that,” she commented, certainty in her tone. “How does sending me away boost someone’s name?” There seemed to be much about this topic – and America in general – that she didn’t quite understand. She’d thought America would be better, kinder. Maybe she should have learned after what she discovered about her father. “I don’t mind telling details, but I think… Some of it may not reflect so well on me. I’m happy you’re arguing my case. I want to thank you for that. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” She probably would have been deported even before New York’s separation from Earth had it not been for Matt’s assistance. “I think you can do it,” she offered. “I think you’re the best at what you do.”

Not every second of the year or so Matt had spent with Stick had been dedicated entirely to training, or pushing Matt off rooftops in an attempt to prove to him that he could improvise (and survive the pain of two shattered ankles). Sometimes, on rare occasions, they would sit on a park bench eating ice cream like that first day all over again, and Stick would ask Matt for his observations. Over the months they became more and more specific, but in the moments when no one was walking past and the world was quiet for once, Matt had turned to Stick and made conversation. He had told the old man that he wanted to be a lawyer, and Stick had laughed for a good five minutes. He hadn’t provided any opinion besides that, having made himself clear, but it didn’t deter Matt in the slightest. Fighting was one way to ensure justice, but it wasn’t enough. His father had proven that. Matt needed to change the system from the inside, too.

His role as Daredevil was absolutely what gave him perspective, a reason to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Clients like Nadia helped as well, reminded him that there were people out there who deserved a strong defence, who needed help, who deserved help. “I’ve had plenty of practice,” Matt said with a small smile, pleased despite himself. “Some people think that, when immigrants come in from other countries, they put stress on America. They take away jobs, or healthcare, or food. They don’t seem to realise that the greater workforce they provide allowed the government to increase the amount of all three.” Matt paused for a brief second. “People are afraid of those who are different. This is just an excuse to get rid of that, but not everyone is the same. We just need to appeal to those who want to help, like this place was built to do.” Matt nodded, thinking back on the small tidbits that he had heard already of Nadia’s past. He didn’t need to know everything to defend her, but he could understand her hesitation. “You’re right,” he said. “We might be safer bringing up some examples of what you went through to show we are being transparent and honest. If we stay quiet on everything, the prosecution will catch onto it.” Matt smiled without holding himself back this time. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said. “You’re the reason I got into law, you know? We’re ensuring justice here, not just the illusion of it. I’m grateful to you for allowing me to help.”

[notdaredcvil]

abornentertainer:

“It’s definitely a thing,” Dick replied evasively. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if the comparison was even a reasonable one, or whether he was just on edge trying to figure out how to have Jason around again without making some comment about the new, more violent version of his brother that would chase him away again, and jumping at shadows because of it.. “Probably a good thing,” he decided, because saying anything else would make him sound like a pretty serious jerk. “It’s just…Gotham, you know. Even the good stuff’s wrapped up in at least a few levels of what the hell.” Which was a pretty fair explanation for everything he was feeling, too.

He nodded emphatically, because he was deeply familiar with that kind of process of adaptation of his equipment to fit the changes on the streets. “I think I’m supposed to feed you some kind of line about being trained by Batman and not making mistakes,” he said, grinning. “But yeah. Nice to have the chance to work the kinks out without the chance of sudden, surprise death.” Find the electrical shorts before they turned into actual problems the first time he fell in a puddle, that sort of thing. “Thank goodness,” he said with mock relief. “Because it would’ve been real awkward if you turned me down after I brought out the good manners and everything. And there are two of us. Why pick just one, when we can do both?”

“A thing,” Matt repeated, humour evident in his voice, smirk appearing on his face as they moved almost effortlessly through the city. He had assumed that it would feel strange to travel, and to fight, with someone else, but it was actually panning out to be quite enjoyable. Daredevil’s time swinging between the rooftops was typically dedicated to reflection, planning his next moves with careful precision before deciding to go on instinct instead, and now, it was planning something out with another person, giving him little time to get consumed by his own thoughts. It kept him lighter, in many ways, and that could only be a good thing. “Sounds a lot like Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt commented. “At least we only have a borough of it, though. A whole city seems like it would be more of a handful.”

Home was home, of course, and Nightwing was shaped by his experiences in Gotham just as Matt was shaped indefinitely by his experiences on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. “We had insanely different experiences with training, then,” Matt said, a grin developing despite himself. “My mentor basically thrived on having me mess up. Pushed me off rooftops and everything, just to prove to me I could improvise when it called for it. Could’ve died any time he did it.” He hadn’t, though, which had taught him something - he was a tough son of a bitch to take out permanently. “That’s the beauty of teamwork, isn’t it? Do you have any preference?” Just as he asked the question, they reached a rooftop where demons were congregating, and Matt snapped his grappling hook back into a billy club.

[notdaredcvil]

friendlyneighborhoodspidernerd:

Sometimes people – Aunt May mostly – lamented the fact that Peter had chosen this life so early on. But when she found out the truth, and he had to sit down and try to explain all this to her, he reminded her of what Uncle Ben always said. With great power comes great responsibility. He had forgotten that once – and once was too much. Maybe he was young, but he was old enough to know what he had to do.

He wondered when Daredevil knew. When he decided that this would be his life, or at least, a major part of it. Having a life outside of being a hero was important, one of the reasons Peter had clung so desperately to his secret identity, but even without it, he tried to stay normal. As normal as a kid with his abilities could be, that is. When you were like this, when something was different, when you could feel it in your veins – normal was kind of out of the picture. 

DD never really laughed. It always sounded tired or strained, or like he was scared to laugh too loudly. Like the world might snatch the joy right out of his throat. It made Peter a little sad, but he never brought it up, never asked why his laugh was like that. If it was because of being a hero like this, or if it was something in his past. Judging from how he talked about his teacher, well… that could explain a few things. “At least that part didn’t rub off on you,” he said gently, smile audible in his voice. “You’re one of the nicest guys I know. Did he – I mean, you don’t have to answer,” he said quickly, holding up a hand out of habit. “But I was just wondering if he, ya know, meant for you to use what he taught you to do this. Being a hero, saving people.” It was hard to imagine someone who trained a person to do that as being all bad. But then, he usually tried to see the good in people. 

It was Peter’s turn to laugh a strange, half-laugh. “Tell me about it,” he said, letting his gaze fall to the street. After all, if Harry and Gwen had never learned the truth about Spiderman – would she still be here? “But then again… sometimes just because something hurts, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be honest,” he said quietly. He glanced back up at Daredevil, and shrugged. “I’m a scientist. Ya know, try to be,” he said quietly. “I like having answers. Knowing all the variables, trying to find the truth. But not everyone’s like me.” He paused a moment, inhaling a deep breath. “Do you think it’d help more than it’d hurt?” 

This time, his laugh came out a little easier, and Peter found himself nodding vigorously. (He knew from experience that DD would be able to tell.) “And you won’t even let me make you devil shooters,” he added, shaking his head. It was still a little disconcerting, to have one of his more impulsive moments praised – or at least, not criticized. Mr. Stark could be a little bit of a worrier, honestly. (Not that Peter didn’t understand, given the long and sordid history of Iron Man suits rescuing Spiderman at the last second.) He took his time, really thinking it over before his answer. “I guess… I mean, besides Johnny, it was just this feeling I had. Spidey-sense is this weird thing, it’s hard to read sometimes. But every time I looked at him, I could just feel it going crazy in the back of my head, this constant tingling. I figured I’d at least try to see why.” But the plan had left him with more questions than answers, and that tingle hadn’t gone away. “Yeah?” he asked, smiling back at DD. “That’s a load off. Wait – would it cost a lot? Because Mr. Stark probably isn’t gonna be wild about footing that particular bill,” he said, leaning back himself. Karen was outlining the constellations for him, but the stars just didn’t shine the same way as they did back home. “That’s what it looks like. It’ll be something. Bigger than Halloween even, ya know, since everyone’s excited about the free food and stuff.” He tapped his fingers along his stomach. “I guess my spidey-sense was wrong, huh? I mean, without the president and his policies, we might never have found those resources, right?” 

Destiny was a strange concept for Matt to consider. He was religious, as deeply as he could manage to be, and that meant that on some level he believed there was a higher power that had everything mapped out, that people had a fixed point that they were always going to hit no matter what choices they made. Of course, along with his religion, he knew that God had provided free will. People could choose to be good, they could choose to be bad, they could choose to be something in between.

Because of that, Matt had summarised destiny in a very specific way - there were certain situations, certain events, that were always going to happen, but the way that a person responded to it defined who they were. Matt was always going to meet Stick. He was always going to be blinded. His father was always going to die. In any existence, those events had to happen. He had to get these powers, he had to follow the law, he had to hide a part of himself from the outside world. It was how he had chosen to act in regards to those events that represented his free will.

Spider-Man could have become a villain just as easily as he became a hero. At that young an age, emotions, especially grief, was magnified. Peter had been dealt some pretty terrible hands, and that meant that he could tip to either side of the scale. He had made a decision, and that decision had been what transformed him into a hero. “You must know some real assholes,” Matt said with a smirk and a half laugh, but he felt his heart pound in his chest, touched at the fact that at least someone wasn’t pissed off at him for a moment, just a moment. “I doubt it,” Matt admitted, not hesitating for a moment before answering. Spidey wasn’t like the people in his ‘normal’ life - he knew something about this world, knew something about what it was like, even if their experiences were slightly different. “He told em we were fighting a war, that we needed to stay focused on the endgame before all else. He didn’t make a habit of saving individuals, put it that way.”

Daredevil and Spidey, though, they focused on the little cogs that added up to the big machine. That was how they changed the world. Spidey was an Avenger, but he had his roots and origins in vigilantism, something Matt connected to deeply. “I feel like it would open another door that would just lead to a whole pile of crazy shit,” Matt admitted, “but maybe it needs to be opened.” Maybe it was as simple as Stick asking around for people like him. Maybe it was as simple as the nuns calling for help. Maybe it was something else, something mystical to do with the Chaste’s history.

“I feel like any kind of shooters is your patented technology. I’d hate to step on your toes, or get sued,” Matt said with a smirk. Matt tilted his head to the side as Spidey spoke, listening intently to what he was saying. They rarely talked about the specifics of their powers, at least until the power swap when it had basically been necessary for them to discuss it at length, and so it was always interesting to learn something more. “Has it been wrong often before?” Matt asked. “Your spider sense?” If it was anything like Matt’s radar capacities, Matt would put insane faith in it. “Nah, this guy takes pro bonos, and I would put in a good word for you.” A party did seem as if it was distracting the citizens from something, but maybe it was just a night for them to enjoy. Maybe Matt didn’t need to be that pessimistic. “Gut instinct counts for a lot. I wouldn’t rule it out entirely just yet.”

[notdaredcvil]

spoiledsteph:

He looks pissed. “Spoiler,” Steph answered, gamely enough. She eyed the billy clubs, uneasy. Daredevil could probably bench press her twice over without breaking a sweat. She shook her head. The quicker she explained herself, the quicker she’d get some answers. “Nobody’s ever heard of me,” she went on, barreling—slowly—to the point. God, he was making her nervous. The strong and silent types needed to be better conversationalists. “Anyway, I heard you know the gangs around here?” Steph hastened on, just in case he wasn’t going to wander toward forthcoming and helpful. “The sooner you tell me all you know about Black Mask, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair,” she promised. “Too many cooks around here. Makes you wonder how stuff done in this neighborhood.”

You shouldn’t have done the pun, Steph chastised herself. She just…it was the mask. She could see half of Daredevil’s face, which helped, but—but the rest was a little frightening. Thus, the nerves. Black Mask’s smiling skull was worse, though. A lot worse. Steph just needed to wring out all the info Daredevil had on the guy and then run for it. She’ll cook up as many waffles as she could and stay in her tiny studio for the rest of the night, and maybe the next one, too. Self care for the shivers, she consoled herself. That oughta do it.

“Spoiler,” Matt repeated. The Bats and their affiliates seemed to be making New York their home lately, namely Hell's Kitchen, presumably because for all the affection Matt had towards his birthplace, it really was the borough most dense with criminals. “I know Nightwing.” In relative terms, at least. They had ran through rooftops together, battled a few demons and were both on the Secret Warriors. As far as Matt was concerned, that was more than he knew the grand majority of vigilantes. “Is that by design?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow behind the mask. Subtlety was something he had drew on in the beginning but now, the Devil achieved more with a dangerous reputation than secrecy.

If they hadn't been standing on a rooftop talking about crime bosses, Matt might’ve cracked a smirk at the very least. It reminded him of Foggy - the bad pun part, not the vigilante part. “I’ve heard about you, these last few weeks,” Matt said. Criminals were real gossips, especially when they were in their dens. “That’s the only reason I’m still standing here. Are you talking about the Gotham crime boss? Ran some kind of syndicate?” False Faces. Matt had never found that concept particularly terrifying. People’s hearts remained the same regardless of a mask, most of the time. “Why do you want to know about him specifically? There are plenty of Gotham rogues running around New York right now.”

[notdaredcvil]

foggyavocado:

Foggy should’ve known better, really. 

A party this good? People this happy? Food that plenty? It was bound to go wrong somehow. Doom’s list was still on the screen, flashing names and faces and powers for everyone to see – and more importantly, for everyone to see who hadn’t listed. But while everyone else seemed to be working themselves into a raging frenzy about the unlisted, Foggy breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Matt’s name conspicuously absent. 

He hoped Matt had the foresight (ha) to not even come to this thing. Foggy hadn’t seen him, or heard the click of a (wholly unnecessary) cane on the floor, so maybe he was. When things started to take a turn for the worse, Foggy weighed his options. Getting out? That’d be tricky as hell, but maybe he could wait it out from the safety of the bar. Specifically, the floor behind it. 

The bartender had taken off, leaving plenty of booze for the taking, and an excellent hiding spot. Foggy was crouched down, trying desperately not to be seen, when all his hopes were dashed. Matt landed beside him, inexplicably holding cheeseballs. Inexplicable or not, Foggy still helped himself to a handful before answering. 

“I blame you,” he said through a mouthful, probably barely intelligible. He swallowed hard, pretended his heart wasn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The door is currently full of a) an angry mob, b) superfolks trying to escape the angry mob, and c) an angry mob!“ he countered, panic making his voice crack on the last word. “Also, yeah, it may have occurred to me that the booze would be unguarded. This is prime stuff back here. Apparently Doom wanted everyone good and liquored up before dropping his little bombshell,” he muttered, huffing out an irritated breath. “How exactly are we gonna get out of this?” He paused a moment, then leaned in, though it was unlikely anyone would hear them over the ever more furious screams of the crowd. Why aren’t you listed? Why aren’t you helping us?! “Are you safe?” he asked Matt. He was rarely this solemn, this deathly serious. “I mean, no one knows, right? Those pitchforks aren’t gonna be headed towards you anytime soon?” 

Most would assume that Matt hated parties. Given his hypersensitivity, that was a reasonable expectation to have, but it was actually the opposite. Some of Matt’s best memories happened during parties, like his first kiss, that time Foggy tried to barter with the waiter about caviar without realising that he didn’t have to pay for canapés, meeting Elektra, getting one over on the Hand for the first time. That meant that there was really no conceivable situation that Matt was in that would make him avoid the party, especially when the grand majority of the city was in a safe place, meaning the Devil wasn’t required. Even though he knew that the entire thing would go to hell before long - and it really, really had - it hadn’t stopped him from enjoying it while it lasted, and eating as much as he possibly could.

“Hey, I wasn’t even anything to do with this one!” Matt argued, a grin on his face despite himself. In the most disastrous of moments Matt seemed to find levity, whereas in the happiest he was burying his head under the covers. Try explaining that one! “So we go through the window,” Matt said with a shrug. There was a part of him that was joking, but another part that was thinking his cane doubled as a billy club - and a grappling hook. “Tragically, it all went to hell before I even got the chance to get drunk,” Matt said, feeling as if he was describing his first date all over again, right down to hiding under a bar. Columbia had some stories to tell! “I was being serious about the window. At least, moderately serious. There’s also the roof, that’s an option.” Matt paused for a moment, listening intently. “No one’s focusing on the elevator.” At the next question, Matt’s breath hitched for a moment. He remembered that stranger on the street calling him the Devil, saying that she knew. Other than her, though, he felt pretty confident in saying his identity was still a secret. “No one but you and a bunch of ex-girlfriends,” Matt replied. “Dodging pitchforks will be reserved for the night job. Matt Murdock is just a helpless civilian right now, so you gotta help me to that elevator.”