Old Wounds | B.P
Summary: It's been years since you last saw Dex; last you heard, he was working for the FBI. But what happens when the newfound vigilante stumbles to your apartment in dire need of help?
Warnings: Female!Reader, canon violence and death, medical inaccuracies (I'm not a nurse), angst, DDBA Dex, friends-to-lovers, old friends, old North Star reader, obsessive/possessive behaviour from Dex (of course, he's a certified lover boy), past substance abuse from Reader, old military friends. Author Notes: This is my first fanfic. EVER. So please bear with me as I navigate how to do the whole 'you' and Y/N sort of stuff. I'll try to avoid Y/N in any of my writing, but please feel free to give me some constructive criticism! Thank you <3
W.C: 4464 (Oops). Semi-proofread.
Benjamin 'Dex' Poindexter was the type of guy you'd have to keep an eye on - he was tactical, precise, dangerously precise. Your time as a medic in the US Army showed you as much. Both in the same Unit, he was a sniper, you were a nurse; young and stupid, thinking the military was the best way to get your life on track after a quick stint in rehab, you came to enjoy working alongside Dex.
You'd both sit up past midnight, at whatever makeshift camp you were at that week, a shitty cup of coffee in a furmous between you both, and talk - primarily you'd talk, he'd listen. You told him about your past, your struggles with substances in college, when you felt as if life wasn't important anymore, you spoke about your home in New York, your family, friends - you spoke about anything and everything.
Sometimes he'd talk. About his day; the good, the bad. He'd tell you things, and you'd listen - you didn't judge or blame him for the things he felt or did. You learned he was an orphan, born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, raised in the Lyndhurst Home for Boys; you learned he liked baseball and was damn good at it too, though that didn't come as much of a surprise.
What you didn't know was that he'd only told you half of what he felt, what he thought - truthfully, he skated on the line between lies, hoping not to scare you away.
Dex was calculating, smart, and a damn good shot, so it didn't come as a surprise that he joined the FBI soon after you had been discharged from the military to continue medical school. An old friend told you Dex left the army not long after you, and as much as you wanted to keep in contact, you didn't. You weren't sure why. Maybe you were too busy with medical school, or wanted to put that time behind you, wanting to start fresh.
Not long ago, a year or so, you finally became a fully-pledged nurse at Metro-General in your hometown of Hell's Kitchen. The hours were gruelling, and the uprising of crime in the city didn't help either.
The last you heard of Dex was that he was fired from the FBI, then got reinstated, then became a killer and went to prison for his crimes. You wanted to attend the hearing, you really did, but a part of you couldn't come to terms with the fact that the man sitting in the court, scars along his cheeks, was the same man you served with all those years ago, the same man you shared coffee with and laughed with.
He changed.
Little did you know, he's been watching. The whole time. When you left the military, he was the one who got you the job opportunity at Metro-General. When he joined the FBI, it only fueled his ability to watch you. He could see your files, where you live, when you moved, whether you ever reported crimes, or whether your name ever came up in a medical malpractice suit. It never did.
And that was how he was able to stumble through the streets, navigating back alleys until Dex reached the familiar, worn red brick, walk-up apartment buildings, light coming from the third-floor windows - your apartment. The fire escape on the side was perfect for him to climb if he could get onto the graffiti-covered community dumpster.
His hand was tucked against his side, pressing an intensely burning gunshot wound just below his rib, the navy blue mask damp from sweat and rain that had fallen earlier. The darkness of Hell's Kitchen allowed Dex to slip by undetected, that was, until he was finally able to climb up the fire escape, only to slump down on the metal with a clang.
You paused the TV, the remote suspended in the air as you stared at the blank screen, trying to tell where the sound came from. Maybe it was just the cat that belonged to the downstairs neighbours, looking for food again.
Dropping the remote on the coffee table, you stand up, slip on a pair of fleece-lined slippers and pick up the cat treats you kept in the kitchen, despite not having a cat. But you liked the furbal named Whiskers.
You unlocked the latch to the fire escape window, shoving it open, and you swung your legs over the ledge; Hell's Kitchen was cold tonight, making you regret only coming out in grey sweatpants and a white cami top. The quicker you feed Whisker's, the quicker you can go back inside.
"Psst, here, girl" You whispered down the stairwell, expecting the fluffy-furred, grey cat. Instead, you got the crumpled, half-lifeless body of newfound Vigilante - Bullseye, or who you know better as Dex.
The treat bag dropped to the metal grate, spilling over with little clanging, and you don't know what possessed you to do it, but you rushed over to him, gripping the railing as you pressed two fingers to the side of his neck to make sure he still had a pulse.
Thump, thump, thump.
He's still alive. Thank god. Thank god.
"D-dex?" You lifted his head up, and his eyes fluttered slightly, but remained closed. "Jesus"
Maybe it was adrenaline, or fear that the AVTF would find him here and execute him right on your fire escape, but you were able to haul him up, his arm around your shoulder, blood soaking your side as you tried your damn best to guide this heavy unit of a man through the tight space without accidentally pushing him over the edge.
Finally reaching your window, you looked between Dex and the window.
"Dex?" You shook him slightly to see if he would be able to climb in, but all he did was grumble. With a sigh, you gauged the drop from the window to your living room floor, deciding it'll be good enough, but definitely hurt - you shoved him through.
Dex tumbled through the window, his long legs knocking trinkets off the table pushed up beside the two windows as he landed on his stomach with a groan.
"What the fuck..." He muttered, rolling onto his back. You stepped under the window frame, back into the apartment, and quickly dropped to your knees beside him.
"I'm so sorry, you...you slipped" You cringed. Lying to a deadly marksman and vigilante probably wasn't the best idea, but from his state right now, he doesn't look like he could do much.
"Slipped?" His voice was hoarse, deflated, and confused, but his eyes had finally drifted open, glancing around until they landed on you, and you swear you saw those brown orbs soften.
"Yup, now get up, you're getting blood on my carpet" Slipping your hand behind his neck, hovering over him as you carefully lifted him up enough so that you could move him to the side, leaning against the side of the couch, a string of grumbles and huffs coming from his mouth.
Once he seemed semi-conscious and coherent, you reached for his mask, pulling it off - he looked older, of course, he was. Creases in his skin, dried blood from his nose, sticking to my lips, a deep scar cut across his cheek, his hair was longer, sticking to his forehead, and lighter strands across his temple.
Subconsciously, your hand drifted up until it pressed against the scar. You could remember his more baby-face, the softer features, the gentle eyes he used to have. Dex let out a huff, tilting his head to the side like your touch was scolding him.
"What happened to you?" Your voice trembled as you really, really, took him in; the navy blue tactical suit damp with his own blood, maybe someone else's too.
Dex sucked in a breath, wincing as he pulled at his side, teeth clenched so that you swore he was going to chip them, and when he smirks slightly, you could see the blood staining his teeth.
"I'm a wanted man, baby, can't go through life unscaved for longer than a week" He huffs out a weak laugh.
Baby? That was new, but you were blaming it on him being delirious from blood loss.
"And you come to my apartment? How did you even know where I lived, Dex?" You asked a question, you probably wish you didn't. That smirk, God, that stupid smirk widened.
"I know everything. I observe" He muttered, dark brown eyes narrowing ever so slightly towards you, and it should have scared you, his words, that look. Oh, that look.
You didn't give him the satisfaction of giving him a response; instead, you sighed, shaking your head. This was not how you thought your Tuesday was going to go.
"I needed...I needed somewhere safe, somewhere I knew was safe to go to..." He contiuned after the silence became too deafening to stand. "The AVTF is crawling around every corner, every shadow; they have eyes everywhere. Nowhere is safe"
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when bad men get put in charge of a city" You uttered under your breath as you knew Dex's story, you knew he had helped Fisk get that control - maybe not intentionally, maybe not out of the greatness of his heart, but he did it.
Dex was quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. He knew he wasn't a good person; he was far from a saint in the eyes of any God, in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of the people, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying to make amends. To be good.
"Come on, let's get you fixed up" With a huff, you placed your hands under his armpits, pulling him up to stand. He was unsteady on his feet, boots dragging, leaving black scuff marks in the birch coloured laminate flooring you had just cleaned the other night.
Dex protested at first, trying his best not to lean his whole weight into you, but that proved difficult the closer you got to your bathroom. Once inside, you dropped him unceremoniously on the closed toilet seat with a groan, his hand still clutched at his side.
You rummaged through your bathroom cabinets, sure there was a first aid kit lying around somewhere, and surely you found it. An old bag with the first aid cross on the front, the dark green fabric worn over time, filled with gauze, medical tape, antiseptic sprays, wipes, and butterfly stitches - you doubt they'd work on his wound, so it was a good thing you had a surgical needle and thread still in its vacuum-sealed packet.
Turning back to him, you drop onto your knees in front of Dex, pushing his knees apart so you can get a little closer look.
"I'm gonna have to take your shirt off" You started, and were already reaching out to his utility belt, but his hand that wasn't pressing to his side shot out in a deathly grip on your wrist. Your eyes shot up to his, and you saw...hesitation. He was nervous. Army Sniper Dex, Special Agent Poindexter, was nervous.
"You came to me for help...so let me help"
He stared at you, those chocolate brown eyes, exhausted and seen way too much shit for one person to handle. His grip loosened ever so slightly, his throat bobbing as he took a deep swallow of his pride.
Finally, you were able to undo his utility belt that had knife pouches all along the side and back. You dropped it on the floor beside his boot, then you moved to his bloodied compression shirt, untucking it from his cargo pants, carefully lifting it up.
Dex flinches, scrutching his face up at the feel of the threads moving against the wound, and you did too at the sheer sight of it. A long, swollen gash, blood seeping out now that it didn't have that tiny bit of compression from the shirt holding it back. It didn't look good.
"Jesus Christ, Dex" You whispered out, biting your lip to stop yourself from scolding him about improper care of himself, or to scold him about everything. About becoming one of Fisk's goons, for killing on his behalf, for going off the rails and killing that lawyer, and now, trying to do the good thing in his own twisted way.
"Tell it to me straight, Doc. How bad is it?" He grumbled, that stupid smirk on his face like this was entertaining to him, that this was the highlight of his day - maybe it was.
"Well, you've been prettier. It looks like the bullet grazed you mostly, but you're going to need stitches" You mumbled, examining the wound the best you could under the orange hue of the bathroom light.
"I can stitch it, but it won't look the best. I'd suggest a hospital, but a wanted fugitive walking into a hospital sounds like the start to a bad joke" You muttered jokingly.
He huffed out a deep, low chuckle, which was followed by a cough, blood splattering down his chin from where he must have bitten his tongue or knocked a tooth loose. Dex's smirk remained, a little sigh escaping him, and his shoulders relaxed slightly despite the pain.
It was refreshing to him to see you crack jokes in a situation he wasn't sure you'd accept. If anything, Dex thought you'd kick him to the curb, leave him to die; he wouldn't have blamed you if you did. But that's also what he liked about you - you were kind, understanding, you sympathised even with those deemed unforgivable - like him.
"I don't care how it looks, I'd just rather not die on your bathroom floor. Wouldn't want you having to dump my body somewhere"
You rolled your eyes heavily. What an idiot, you thought. He always did have that idiot-charm to him.
Rummaging through the kit, you pulled out some gauze and antiseptic spray, setting them out beside you. He watched with those calculating eyes; he watched how organised you were, how calm you were under a dire situation such as this. He liked that about you, he liked a lot of things about you, things you didn't even notice you do - from the picking at your nails when you're nervous, to the constant inability to be unkind. To him, you were a Saint graced upon earth from the stars.
You pressed the gauze against his side to calm the bleeding, his hand twitching against his knee, wanting to reach out and squeeze something to ease the pain. Taking the needle and thread from the kit, you began threading it whilst Dex held the gauze for you, the fabric quickly staining red, but the bleeding seemed to be lessening.
Once the thread was done, you sat back up on your knees between his legs, resting an elbow on his thigh that made his eyes dart to the bare skin he was only just noticing. The white cami top hung low on your chest, your collarbone defined, hair drifting around your sun-kissed shoulders.
His eyes drifted lower, and to the blood, stained at your side. His blood, and a twisted, cruel thought popped in his brain - this was his way of branding you as his own, you had his blood on your hands, your clothes, and blood doesn't wash out easily, he knew that better than anyone, so it's going to stay. He's going to stay, even if not physically, Dex would be there as a reminder.
"Dex" You snapped your fingers in front of his face, his zoned-out gaze flicking back to you. "I asked if you're ready" You held up the needle and thread.
"Y-yeah. Yeah" Dex muttered, tearing his gaze away from you for the first time since he entered your apartment, and you swear you can see the tiniest, faintest blush on his cheeks.
With a firm nod, you pinched the skin together, earning a rough grunt from Dex, but you ignored it, diving in and carefully stitching and looping.
Your fingers shook with each pull and tug until you reached the end of the gash, further towards his back. He sat up for you, leaning over with his elbow resting on his knee, tilted to one side to give you room, but you felt crowded, not in a bad way.
He was close, too close, the smell of copper and iron on his skin, rainwater and dirt clinging to his clothes.
He was tired, really tired, and not just from his wounds and blood loss; he was tired of life, tired of the never-ending screaming thoughts in his mind that tell him he's useless, that he has to do bad things to feel sane, he was tired of running.
"You okay?" You asked softly, finally cutting off the end of the stitching, unpackaging a fresh gauze, resting it over the wound and securing it with medical tape. You could sense his mind was somewhere else entirely. He let out a gruff sigh, that smirk no longer written on his face.
"I'm gonna need somewhere to lay low for a while" He gruffly said, no joke or hint of banter in his tone. No, he was deadly serious. You glared up at him with annoyed eyes.
"And you decided on here? Jesus, Dex, this is the first time I've seen you in years, and you're asking me to hold up a wanted fugitive in my apartment?" Scoffing, you stood up, but something stopped you from moving any further - Dex. His grip on your wrist is tighter this time.
"You're the only one I can trust! I can't-I don't trust anyone else in this god-forsaken city" Those eyes of a killer, of a cold-blooded assassin, were gentle, almost puppy-dog like. He was lost, he was truly lost.
"And what if the AVTF come looking for you here? Am I supposed to hide you under my bed like a teenage girl hiding her boyfriend she snuck into the house?" You mocked, trying to make him see how ridiculous that request was.
"They won't know I'm here. They won't. I-I made sure, when I worked for the FBI, that I scrubbed your name out of all my files"
Files?
"Why was I in your files?" You questioned, arms folding against your chest, and that made him cringe, his eyes closing for a split second, deciding whether he should just throw himself out the window now or later, though he wasn't sure he'd fit through the tiny bathroom window. "You...you were in a couple of files, some psychiatric shit, that's all." He muttered, averting his gaze, but his grip stayed heavy on your wrist, long fingers drifting down to feel along your pulse. You didn't say anything; your silence was enough for him to know you wanted more than just 'psychiatric shit'.
"I had to have weekly evals at the FBI, to make sure I wasn't going to go postal. Sometimes, your name was mentioned in passing, but I only ever referred to you as your surname, and no offence, your last name isn't exactly unique"
You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time tonight.
"Okay, first off, I didn't ask to have a simple surname. I can't help that my mother decided to keep her maiden name, and second off, what was said in these sessions for you to even bring me up in the first place? We hadn't spoken in a year when you were in the FBI"
His fingers drifted further down, until the calloused skin brushed against your palm in a simple circular motion.
"You have to understand something...I'm not normal, I never have been. I've always had a sick way of thinking. I need structure and routine to keep myself afloat; that's why I joined the military. I enjoyed its rugged schedule and discipline, but there was always something missing. A reason to be good" He scoffed at his own words, not believing that he was about to pour his heart out, to show the real him.
"I needed guidance, something to realign my corrupt moral compass, and you were there - kind, full of sympathy and empathy, and I wanted that. I wanted to be like you, but I wanted to experience you at the same time. I wanted your sympathy, I wanted your empathy, I wanted your kindness and understanding"
"D-did I not give you that?" You mumbled. Reflecting back on your time in the army with him, Dex was the only one you ever truly cared about, ever took time out of your busy day to see him.
"No, you did. God, you did" He came to rest his forehead on your navel, the sweat damp against your stomach. "You were...my North Star. My guiding light in the chaotic darkness of my mind."
North Star? You had no idea what that meant, but to him, it was clearly important.
Swallowing the heavy lump resting in your throat, your hand that wasn't trapped in his grip, came to rest on his shoulder, wishing you could look him in the eye, but he refused to lift his head.
"And then you left. Why did you leave me? I thought that out of everyone, you wouldn't abandon me, but you did. You left me" For a moment, he seemed angry, shaking you gently, but just as quickly as it came, it went. He released a steady breath.
"I-"
"No. It wasn't your fault. You didn't mean to, you didn't understand - I know that now. But I didn't then, I was so mad at you for leaving, I wanted to look for you, hunt you down and lock you away so no one could ever take you away from me again" His words should scare you, should make you pull away and demand him to leave, throw him to the dogs.
You didn't. You can't.
"Then I did find you, when I left the army, I found out you were here, in Hell's Kitchen, but I couldn't...bring myself to face you. Not like this. So I watched you from afar, your schedule became mine, and although we were living different lives, I needed...you close to me just so I could function."
"You were stalking me?"
He flinched at the word.
"I wasn't...stalking you, although I can see how it could have come across that way. I just...I needed you, I still do. My life has crumbled apart, and I've lost everything and everyone I've ever formed a friendship with - all except you. I understand if you hate me for all the things I've done, but all I'm asking is for that sympathy" When Dex finally lifted his head, meeting your gaze, you saw the glossy eyes, threatening to spill the tears he was trying so hard to keep back.
Oh, this wasn’t Bullseye, this wasn’t the killer feared by everyone in New York. No. This was just Dex, mentally unstable, manipulated Dex, who was never taught how to be like other children. This was your Dex.
"I don't hate you, Dex. Believe me, I tried...but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I don't know why you need me so bad, or this North Star crap, but I-I'm willing to learn" His eyes widened slightly, shoulders dropping like a heavy weight had finally been lifted. Dex's hand, which was covered in dried blood, came to rest on your hip.
"You are?" His voice trembled, fingers digging into my hip gently to not hurt you. He would never. Even if you ripped his heart out and stomped all over it, he could never hurt you.
"I am, but don't make me regret this, Dex. I'm helping you because...because I care about you"
"I care about you too" Dex quickly said, standing to his full, imposing height, making you tilt your head back to look up at him, his hands coming to rest on either side of your neck, large enough they almost engulf it.
"I care about you so fucking much. I'd die for you. I'd kill for you, you say the word-"
"Dex" You snapped him out of his rambling "I don't want you to kill anyone for me" A soft laugh expelled from your mouth, gazing up at him, your own hand finding perch on his chest, listening to his heart thudding beneath your palm.
"But I would. I'll do anything for you, just to see you smile, to make you happy-" He suddenly coughed, groaning as he held a hand over his freshly stitched wound, clearly tugging on the thread in his haste to prove just how much he cared for you.
"Alright, easy big guy, keep those words of devotion for when you get better" You giggled, resting your hands on his torso, keeping him upright. He let out a rough hum, resting his forehead on your shoulder, brushing his nose along the side of your neck, taking in the gentle scent of your coconut shampoo and floral detergent.
With the mixture of losing a lot of blood and the subtle signs of him getting a cold from the rain, it was clearly his bedtime. Hands steady on his torso, you began to guide him out of the bathroom, down the hallway, which was way too small for both of you, until you reached your bedroom.
Nudging open the door with the tip of your foot, you pulled Dex inside the semi-messy room; sage green walls covered in art pieces, and shelves with a mix of photo frames and little decorations. Your bed was already made, and you flopped Dex down onto the clean sheets, not minding if he got a bit of blood and dirt on them
Dex attempts to lift his head to look at you, but ultimately fails, flopping it back down on the pillows that were remarkably comfortable.
"Just lie down, and get some rest" You instructed in that stern tone Dex knew not to mess with. You reached for his combat boots, unlacing them and yanking them off, tumbling to the ground with a thud. He huffed out in exhaustion, unable to even look at you properly, only staring up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" He whispered. You grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, dragging it over his wrecked body. You could only nod, coming to sit on the edge beside him, resting a hand on his chest.
"Of course"
And with that, Dex's eyes fluttered closed, the last image being your soft face under the orange hue of the bedside lamp, in the softness of your bed, surrounded by your warmth and scent.
