Coming Up Roses (10657 words) by neatmonster
Chapters: 9/9
Fandom: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Characters: Frank Castle, Karen Page, Sarah Lieberman, David "Micro" Lieberman, Brett Mahoney
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, it's kinda like a rom-com with very explicit love scenes, frank has a beard, tragedy free frank, Fluff and Smut, Kastle Freeform, small mentions to other characters, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and a few heavy moments, Dogs, gun mention, frank is a suave motherfucker longing for love, mishmash of daredevil and the punisher
Summary: This takes place during Daredevil’s S2 but Frank never becomes the punisher cause he never married or had kids. Karen, on the other hand, is still haunted by her past. She’s reluctant to date again after having to deal with Matt and what’s going on at that point in her life but Frank quickly changes that.
Between sleep troubles and lullabies, Gosalyn kinda fell in love with the girl Webby seemed so heartbroken about.
n/a: fluff, angst, grief, comfort, falling in love, pre-poly,when is lena coming back from the shadow war?
“Are you sleep?”
Webby heard a snore.
She turned around to see Gosalyn snoring softly at her side, kind of sprawled on the bed, unconscious to the world and to Webby’s predicament.
At first, the idea of having a pajama party with Gosalyn had been amazing, but now that insomnia was haunting her, and her insistent thoughts pushed her to do something that would distract her from them, the idea looked pretty inconvenient.
It had been tolerable before the Shadow War but now…
Webby hummed softly to herself, looking for a way to get out of the bed without waking her.
Webby took a single breath and passed herself over Gosalyn, who kept sleeping soundly. It had been going fine until she fell to the floor. Piercing into the quiet room. Webby felt her beak tight still lying on the floor. Maybe jumping from the bed would have made less sound than trying to get out of the bed the boring way.
She looked back, Gosalyn didn’t even move. Webby got up, tipping toeing to the door. Then Gosalyn moved, and Webby paralyzed mid-step. Ten seconds of total silence passed, Gosalyn not moving anymore. Webby thought herself safe and sighed, loudly.
“Um, Webs?”
Yikes.
Gosalyn blinked, turning around to see Webby up weirdly in the middle of the room. “Hey, where are you going?”
Webby giggled involuntarily. “Going to the bathroom?”
Narrowing her eyes, Gosalyn looked at her suspiciously. She took the blanket and let it fell to the ground, she got up from the bed and walked to her. “You seem a little too awake to be just that. Come on, Webby, what is it?”
“It’s just… I can’t sleep.” Webby confessed. It seemed futile lying to Gos.
“Oh.” Gosalyn frowned, deep in thought, seemed to think what she could do in that case. She looked at her, a question in her eyes. “Is it for…?”
Lena.
Is it for Lena?
“No!” Gosalyn almost jumped at the sudden denial, Webby looking like someone had asked her to kill somebody. Webby must have realized because in the nip of a second she was smiling, nervous and obviously uncomfortable. “I mean…no, I was just thinking about stuff, and well, I-.”
Gosalyn held her hands up, in look for peace. “Hey, it’s fine. No judging here.”
“Oh, I…” Webby took a breath, her hands behind her back, playing nervously with her own feathers. “I know it been months, and I’m better! Like I should be but…”
“Hey, really, it’s fine. When—” Gos took a breath, to give herself enough courage to continue— “my grandpa died, I spent a lot of time awake. Sometimes, I still do.”
Webby looked up. A sparkle that wasn’t there before appearing. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Webby smiled this time around, big and clear and happy to be comprehended. Gosalyn wondered if anyone had told Webby before that she wasn’t expected to overcome lost that easily. Gosalyn hummed, considering. “Moving around helps you?”
“Oh, yeah, sometimes. It depends, I guess.”
“Oh! Then, let’s try!” Gosalyn walked to the door with confidence, taking Webby’s wrist, feeling that bracelet she seemed to never get off between her fingers.
Webby gasped, letting herself be strung along. “Aren’t you tired?”
Gosalyn shrugged. “I’m more of a night person, anyways.”
.
Webby let out every tiny detail she had about the mansion, or about the McDuck Clan, or Scrooge McDuck himself. They kept walking around the mansion, Webby rambling and Gosalyn trying to remember the way they were taking, kind of impossible since it was so big it felt more like a maze.
A sudden question came to her. She had heard of it from time to time, but just bits and pieces, nothing concrete.
Gosalyn whispered into the night, careful to not wake anyone else.
“Hey, can you tell me things about Lena?”
“Oh!” Webby was actually surprised by the question. “She is one of the coolest people I’ve ever met! There was this time when…”
Gosalyn paid her as much attention as she could, as hard as it was to keep up with Webby’s excited rambling.
She talked about her like some poetic wonderful appearance. So much that for a moment Gosalyn thought that maybe Webby had invented her out of loneliness. If she had not remembered that the boys talked about Lena too (albeit in a completely different way), maybe the feeling growing at her chest would have felt more insane than it actually did.
She didn’t know what made her grin more, the fact that Webby was so oblivious heart-struck by Lena or the fact that her own mind was thinking like in a whisper, you should be too.
It made her blush in a strange way to realize that Webby felt things for this girl that were stronger than she probably knew because there was a feeling equals parts green and pink growing in her chest.
She wanted Webby to talk about her like that, but at the same time, she wanted to talk about Lena in the same way Webby did.
It was a confusing feeling that her mind didn’t know how to deal with yet.
At least she was certain of one thing. She was strangely charmed by a person she didn’t know at all.
And for that, a little comment escaped her before she could stop it.
“I wish I could have met her. She sounds like she was amazing.”
Webby stopped in the middle of the hallway, and Gosalyn stopped too, feeling like she stepped on a mine. Webby stayed quiet for a moment, her hands on her chest and head a little down. It wasn’t until she heard a sob that Gosalyn actually felt like screw it up.
“This bracelet is…the last thing I have that reminds me of her.” Webby turned around, tears falling down like a river. Gosalyn felt her chest tight. “Gosalyn, do you think one day I could forget her like everybody else?”
That was it.
Gosalyn ran forward, opening her arms and hugging her as tight as she could, trying to protect her from an invisible threat. Webby cried on her chest, the hand with the bracelet between them.
“No one has or will forget about her, Webby. I-I promise. Not you, not anyone,” But she didn’t know if it was true. She had to try anyway. “She sounds like a too wonderful person to forget.”
“But everyone is just acting like- like it didn’t happen. Even I do! I-I-.”
“That’s not true. You’re still using the bracelet, right?” Webby sobbed and nodded against her chest, her grasp on the front of her pajamas tightening. Gosalyn patted her hair. “Then, that means you’re not acting like that, okay? Sometimes we don’t talk about things that hurt us with others, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. We show it other ways. Sometimes, people should notice by themselves.”
Webby let out another sob and kept hugging her. Gosalyn didn’t know how to proceed from here. Should she tell Mrs. Beakley? Launchpad? The Boys? Uncle Donald? Mr. McDuck? Webby had been hurting this bad, and no one had seen it or do anything about it. Why? Webby couldn’t be that good at hiding herself from others, right?
Gosalyn hugged her a little tighter. Webby could protect herself, she knew that, but this was a little bigger than that.
She would try to resolve it in the morning, for now, maybe she could help with the first problem.
Gosalyn called Webby’s attention breaking the hug, without letting go of her completely, an understanding smile on her face. “Hey, when I couldn’t sleep, my grandpa used to sing to me a special lullaby, then dad started to do it too so now it’s even more special, he even wrote new lyrics for it. Maybe it can help you.”
Webby played with the loose threads of her bracelet. Tears still falling down. “But isn’t it especially for you?”
“Hey, if it helps, it doesn’t matter. And… I think—” she started to say, her voice shy, a soft blush under her feathers— “it would be even more special if I share it with you.”
Webby let out a little smile.
“I have never been sung a lullaby before,” she said hesitantly, now a little more at ease, cleaning her face.
“Yeah? Well, you will like this one. I promise.”
They sat down, supporting themselves at the nearest wall. Gosalyn rasped a little, she had to be quiet. She started to sign as low as she could, her voice still cracking in the same notes that it always did.
Rest your head, little girl blue,
Come paint your dreams on your pillow.
Webby let her head rest on Gosalyn, finding comfort in her breathing and trying to tone hers to the rhythm of the lullaby.
I'll be near to chase away fear,
So sleep now and dream 'til tomorrow,
Their hands met between them, and they threaded their fingers firmly. Gosalyn felt how some of the strands of the bracelet came between their sweaty palms. Like a safe reminder that they were not alone in that exact place in the big mansion, in a way.
I'll be near to chase away fear,
So sleep now and dream 'til tomorrow.
“Hey, Gos…” her voice was at the verge of disappearing. Gosalyn took that as a good sign.
“Yeah?”
“I really want you to meet Lena. She’ll think you are amazing, just like I do.”
Gosalyn stopped breathing, feeling her heart picking a pace she wasn’t used to, her hand feeling hot where the strands touched her. The shoulder where Webby rested felt like that too. Gosalyn took a breath, trying to calm herself.
She felt Webby’s calm breathing making her go up and down, finally asleep. They were going to stay there, right? In the middle of the hallway. Gosalyn was completely lost in that mansion, too big for her to remember how to come back to Webby’s room on her own. And even if she remembered, she wasn’t so sure she could pick up Webby and not wake her up. She would feel terrible if she waked up after all the trouble they went to make her fall asleep.
She distracted herself with thoughts of the mansion, scared to acknowledge the real feeling of loss she was feeling in her mind.
Not even confronting Negaduck had ever made her feel like this.
She looked at the bracelet, then at Webby. She simply took a wild strand of hair out of her eyes, softly.
“Good night, Webby.”
Gosalyn looked at the bracelet one more time and sighed, a sad smile in the corner of her beak.
“Night, Lena. I hope we meet soon.”
thanks for reading and hope u like it! if u want to support my content, likes and reblogs are extremely appreciated!!!! u can always donate to my ko-fi if u want to show support in other ways. this fic is on ao3 too if u want to read it better.
Additional Tags: Sleepovers, Sleep troubles, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugging, Pining, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, i freaking miss lena when is she gonna come back from the shadow war, it isnt that they dont care its that they dont know, WebGosLena, Lullabies, Pre-Poly, Angst
Summary: Between sleep troubles and lullabies, Gosalyn kinda fell in love with the girl Webby seemed so heartbroken about.
So simple, almost imperceptible, that she doesn’t even know that she’s doing it. Standing there in line at the coffee cart, the city alive and buzzing around her, she pulls her jacket tighter around her to fight off the on-coming chill. Her bangs blow across her forehead and as she moves them out of her eyes she discreetly watches the shadows.
Karen know’s it’s illogical, that he’s not going to be there, that he’s got to be far, far away from this city by now.
So she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts before they can get to but what if, and she takes her coffee from the vendor with a smile.
---
Her apartment walls are covered floor to ceiling with her notes. Scribbled on pieces of paper and napkins all connected up with colored string and thumbtacks. To any other eye, it would be un-readable. But to Karen? Every little sentence, every address, receipt... It perfectly lines up into an organized chaos.
Her eyes trail from line to line as she sits, her legs tucked up underneath her, and precariously balancing her laptop on the arm of the couch. Fingers dancing absently across the keys, she writes without thinking.
Outside, the wind whistles through the fire escape like an angry song. A storm is coming. Dark clouds dance in the sky, threatening of a down pour that’s bound to begin any second. The smart ones have taken cover inside, and the ones left outside quicken their pace.
The piece she’s writing for work is blurred before her, random thoughts that have been floating through her mind for the past several days have made there way out through her fingertips and onto the page.
Where are you?
Where could you possibly be hiding?
The cursor blinks, waiting for an answer.
She wished she had one.
At the first crack of lightning, the lights flicker on and off. At the second, the sound of power in the building surges before completely going dead. The once distinct sound of tv shows coming from apartments all over the building, appliances, and that distinct electric hum is suddenly and shockingly gone.
Karen moves her laptop to the coffee table and stands, crossing her arms at the sudden chill. Rain beats against her window, violently, almost as if it has some will to break the glass.
“It wasn’t me, ok?”
“It... You,” she fumbles to find the right words. To block him out. Every thought in her head is screaming at her to ignore him, he’s lying. But there’s a war going on inside her and she knows, she just knows, that he’s telling her the truth.
“Ok,?” Frank say’s softly, so softly she almost misses it. “Ok?”
He’s got his hands up, but his head tilts curiously, and his eyes suddenly go distant. And then he’s charging her, this feral scream ripping from his throat, and he’s tackling her. It takes her a moment to realize that there’s bullets flying, so many bullets, and he’s physically shielding her with his entire body.
The silence that follows after the gunfire is deafening.
And the moments that follow are so distinct and clear it’s like she’s reliving that day all over again. His mouth in her hair, whispering that they need to go. His hands flying over her body in a quick assessment before landing on her shoulder and lower back, respectively.
They crouch low as they hurry out of the room, and then she’s grabbing his hand in her shaking one, leading him to the parking garage and her car. When she glances back at him she notices the shards of glass still sticking to the fabric of his coat, shinning like jewels every once in a while when the light hits it just right. It’s an odd contrast.
“We’re good,” he whispers.
She believes him.
And he smiles.
Something clatters against the fire escape, jarring Karen from her memories. She sighs heavily and leans her forehead against the cool glass of the window. It’s been months since they replaced the one destroyed in the shooting. The bullet holes the scarred her walls have been filled in and repainted.
The noise on the fire escape comes again and she knows its ridiculous, it is absolutely ridiculous, but she wonders. Can’t help it.
What if?
----
It’s around the fifth kick to her rib cage that Karen starts seeing black spots swim before her eyes. She’s already on the ground but she puts a hand down on the ground to steady herself from the spinning world.
“You stupid bitch!” the man above her growls.
She doesn’t even know his name. He was just supposed to be a harmless lead to a much bigger bad.
She copper taste of blood is seeping into her mouth and she can’t help but think of how wrong she is.
“You’re going to be sorry you ever followed me.”
Karen actually already was sorry. And her (for certain) broken ribs were definitely sorry.
“It’s too late,” she murmurs. Her assailant pauses his attack, curious.
“The Punisher,” she spits a mouth full of blood out, “I told him where I was. Even if you kill me right now, he’ll know. And it won’t just be you he kills. It’ll be everyone and anyone you’ve ever aligned yourself with.”
“You’re full of it,” he hisses, but some of the color has drained out of his face.
“By killing me you’re guaranteeing everyone else’s death. It’ll be as if you killed them all yourself.”
“Why would the Punisher bother with saving some journalist bitch who snicks her nose where it doesn’t belong? If anything, he’d want you dead.”
The words have hardly left his mouth when a single shot cracks through the heavy night air. The bullet goes clean through Karen’s assailant shoulder, in and out so fast you’d have missed it in a blink. He’s down and on the ground screaming in an instant.
Boots pound against the asphalt, their echo bouncing off the closely placed brick walls of the alley with military like precision.
Another shot.
She can’t even move now, the pain is so intense, it’s spreading throughout her entire body. Every breath she takes, every sharp inhale, brings another wave of agony, so much worse then the last that each time it happens she thinks she’ll certainly die.
Another shot.
Her assailant is now sport a bullet hole in each shoulder and one in the leg. His screams have turned into begging as the shooter gets closer and closer.
“Y-y-you,” he stutters.
The boots come into her line of vision, and though she recognizes them, she knew who it was before. Had to have been him.
There was no one else.
“You’re the Punisher.”
She knows Frank has this affect on people. Even the mention of his name strikes fear in some criminals heart. But it’s so odd to see when she knows the other side of this man. The side that everyone thinks doesn’t exist. That was destroyed long ago on a sunny summer day in a park as carousel music played softly in the background.
Another shot.
This time Frank crouches down in front of the man, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and pulling him upwards.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Frank grounds out.
“S-she’s just some dumb journalist bitch,” the man scrambles.
Frank’s grip tightens on the man and the distinctive sound of a gun sliding out of the holster strapped to his chest makes everything go completely silent.
“Wrong answer.”
“But-”
He shoot’s again, this time making it final.
She doesn’t even have time to process what he’s just done before his hands are flying all over her. His movements are quick and strategic. Feeling her pulse, fingers dancing across the scrape marks on her pale cheeks.
“Jesus,” his voice cracks.
“I’d say you should see the other guy, but-” her jokes die on her lips as she winces in pain, head lolling back.
Frank’s hands immediately go to her waist, his giant palm spreading flat across her ribs as gently as he possibly can.
“I-it’s bad this time, Frank,” Karen whispers.
“I’m gonna get you help, ok? You hear me?”
He doesn’t even warn her that he’s going to pick her up. He just does it, and if the pain was horrible before, it’s something entirely else now. She screams, fire shooting in a straight line from her abdomen and all the way up into her throat.
“I’m sorry, Jesus, I’m so sorry.”
His normally even tone is tinged with something bordering panic. Something Karen has never heard from him. Ever. And even though she’s almost just been beaten to death in some dark alley by some unimportant thug, she thinks that hearing even just the slightest bit of panic from Frank Castle is probably the scariest thing that’s happened tonight.
“How’d you even find me?” she asks.
“I followed the sound of your complete and total lack of self care and followed it here,” his voice is gruff, but he’s at least trying to make her forget about what’s happening.
“The Punisher’s got jokes.”
Her head lolls back, balanced on his shoulder and cheek, and as she speaks to him she feels the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He makes a grunting sound, not a laugh, he’s too worried about her to do that. But it’s close.
His gait is fast, and though he’s relatively out in the open of the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, he’s stealthy. The blinding lights of the hospital shine down bright on them in no time at all. And even as she feels consciousness slipping, she realizes that he’ll most likely be gone when she wakes up. She’s too weak to grab one of his hands so she settles on pressing her cheek closer against his.
“I got you,” he whispers. “I got you, ok?”
“Ok,” she whispers back, like it’s a secret just for them.
And then they’re going through the automatic doors of the emergency room of the hospital and Frank’s yelling for a doctor. Nurses rush forward, and then she’s on a bed and out of his arms, and being wheeled away.
She didn’t get to say goodbye, but it’s ok.
Her “what if’s” that she’d wondered about for weeks are gone.
summary: Louie found a new indie video game made by an unknown developer inspired by their favorite superheroes! Hurray! Only problem? The last level seems impossible to complete. Could anyone in the mansion do it? Also, obviously the Duck Avenger is the best character to play with, right? No, Gizmoduck! No, Darkwing Duck! ...Huh, better ask Uncle Donald.
word count: 1994
n/a: inspired by this wonderful piece by @neon-shesh. april, may and june’s designs inspired by @avespecora, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing.
“Oh, come on! Not again!”
“Umm, Louie, what are you doing?”
Huey looked at Louie, sprawled on the floor dramatically, holding his phone like had betrayed him. Louie just looked at him with this indecipherable expression and then showed him his phone. A pretty high score was glowing in the screen and the words of two options: ‘try again!’ and ‘game over’. It showed too, the international high scores. The colors looked cool and the little animation too, Huey murmured appreciatively.
Huey sat beside him. “But you have a really high score, and into the internationals too, Louie! Why are you so frustrated? What is the game about?”
Louie sighed and got up like it was a trouble for him to do that but he smiled anyway, happy to ramble about his new discovery. “A person on the internet developed this new indie game with superheroes from real life! They have the Duck Avenger even when he’s retired. You can choose between Gizmoduck, Darkwing Duck and the Duck Avenger. I chose the Duck Avenger, of course, he’s the most badass.”
“I would like to argue that. Duck Avenger was the most badass, he retired, he’s no more. Gizmoduck, however, it’s a new superhero and he has so much-.”
Louie interrupted him immediately. “Yeah, yeah. I will fight you on that later because that doesn’t change the fact that the Duck Avenger is the most badass. Anyways, the game is pretty simple. But I can’t past the last level no matter how much I try. It’s stupid, I’m thinking it’s rigged.”
“Maybe the character is not the one adequate for the level?”
“That’s ridiculous, they’re all supposed to pass the levels.”
“Well, only one way to find out. Come on, let me try it with Gizmoduck.”
Louie passed the phone to him and Huey tried it. It was, like Louie said, an actually simple game. Like some Mario Bros game. But the animation was actually pretty cool and fluid and the levels were even more interesting. Until he got to the last level, and he lost. Multiple times.
“This doesn’t make sense! I have changed every little thing that went wrong went I played and none of them work?”
“I told you! It’s rigged!”
Dewey entered the living room and looked at his brothers being a little too mad at a simple phone. “Guys, what are you doing?”
“We are playing this game and none of us can pass it.”
“Oh, can I see? Mmm. I will choose Darkwing.”
“So, Launchpad made you like it, huh?”
“Shut up. Pass the game.”
.
“WHY THE HELL I CAN NOT PASS IT?”
“WE KNOW!”
“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”
“Boys, whatcha doing?”
“WEBBY, TRY THIS!”
“Oh, ok. HEY, IS THAT THE DUCK AVENGER? I WILL CHOOSE HIM!”
Louie just smiled proudly. “Good choice, little sister. Good choice.” Huey and Dewey just rolled their eyes.
.
“WAIT, WHY I CAN NOT PASS IT?”
“UGH, COME ON, NOT EVEN WEBBY?!”
“THE GAME IT’S RIGGED, I TOLD YOU!”
“Maybe the developer made a mistake?” Huey took his book out of his hat and looked out for the page on developing independents video games.
Louie and Dewey rolled his eyes. “Not everything can be in that book, Huey.”
.
“Even Uncle Scrooge tried, and he lost too. Well, he didn’t like to play, kept saying that’s it was a ridiculously simple game and he shouldn’t lose his time. But when he kept losing he almost threw my phone like it personally offended him. No good.”
“Cousin Fethry tried too, but well, he didn’t really understand the game either. He thought it was cool though.”
“Well, atI least I’m glad they all have great taste. They all chose Duck Avenger.”
“Yeah but, boys, we have not found a way to win. Granny didn’t want to even try it though.”
“Launchpad tried too, he lost with Darkwing and he was actually good at playing it.”
“Maybe we could ask Uncle Gladstone? I mean, if someone it’s able to win, it’s him, right?”
All the kids looked at each other and then nodded. All of them went to look for Gladstone.
.
“Do you think anyone is going to ever catch up that you fucked up that last level on purpose so no one can find the secret passage, April?” May asked, making her basketball’s ball turn around in her finger while resting on her bed.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, I don’t know why no one is finding the secret passage in the last level!”
“Well, you should fix it, dear sister. Like me and this little buddy. Right, little buddy?” June cheerfully said from her place in her own bed. She was trying to fix a little robot she was making.
“I. Am. Trying. To. Fix. It! You’re not helping!” April declared, furiously typing on her computer.
May and June just rolled their eyes and shrugged, continuing to do their own thing.
“Girls, let’s go! April, to your programming classes! May, to your basketball practice! June, you volunteered to that activity in the park!”
“Yes, aunt Daisy!” May and June responded and went to look for her things. April made a frustrated noise and started to write even faster. “UGH, WAIT, JUST A LITTLE. I STILL NEED TO SEND THE UPDATE.”
“I’M NOT WAITING. APRIL!”
“UGH, OKAY.” April ended giving up, taking his things frustrated, putting her laptop in her bag. Well, she could just apologize to the gamer community later and post the update, she supposed.
.
“Sorry, little beans. Guess video games are not my thing, not even for my luck.” Gladstone did seem weirded out by the result too. He didn’t lose the game but for a really weird reason his character (the Duck Avenger, Louie was glad most of his family had such great taste) got stuck in a weird way, he didn’t lose like everybody else, he wasn’t killed even once but his character kept moving and moving without another obstacle on the way but the way didn’t end for minutes. Until they themselves stopped the game. It was like the game couldn’t let him lose but it couldn’t let him win either. It was actually ridiculous.
Louie raised a brow and looked Huey and they both nodded. They were thinking the same thing. “In a way, Uncle Gladstone didn’t lose, he’s actually the only one that didn’t lose, and he never died in the game,” Huey concluded.
“The game is rigged, it’s impossible Uncle Gladstone had not won.” Louie ended saying.
Gladstone seemed to consider it too and then he smiled. “Have you asked Don to play it?”
“Do you think the most unlucky duck in the world can win this game?” It wasn’t like Dewey wanted to underappreciate his Uncle Donald but it was just. Good luck vs. Bad luck, you know.
Gladstone shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “Why not try it? Don holds a lot of surprises.” Also, he is going to flip out if he sees someone has done a game of PK, he deserves a little pleasure once in a while, he thought. “Good luck, kids!”
The kids looked at Gladstone going away to whatever business he had. Well, that only left them with an option.
.
“Kids, I’m kinda busy.” He was still repairing the boat, he didn’t know why the thing could just hold it together. All the kids made puppy faces. Donald sighed, it wasn’t fair. “Ok, ok. Give me that. Wait, is that the Duck Avenger?” He seemed to blush but Webby wasn’t so sure.
For a reason unknown to Webby, it was like that simple phrase lighted up something between the boys that she had not seen before. She blinked confused, the air smelled like competition out of nowhere. She looked at Donald and made a simple question. “Who are you going to choose to play, Uncle Donald?”
It seemed like the wrong question when the boys’ aura of competitiveness grew even more. Louie was the first one to attack, trying to be smooth about it. “It is incredible that the Duck Avenger is in a video game and he deserves it because he is super badass, you should choose him, Uncle Donald.”
Huey jumped next, his spirit wasn’t going to submit to the younger and more spoiled brother. “But Gizmoduck is a promising young hero! He has so much room to grow, and he is super smart and heroic and-!”
Dewey, not about to be left behind, jumped too, interrupting his older brother, determined to make his Uncle choose his hero. “But Darkwing Duck is amazing too, he is a great detective and does some pretty sick moves! You should choose him, Uncle Donald!”
Donald tried to calm them down. “Wow, wow. Calm down, boys. Let’s see.” Donald looked at the screen and then nodded. “Ok, I’m choosing Gizmoduck.”
Huey made a pleased cry, his fist in the air. Dewey and Louie looked at him, feeling betrayed. “But Uncle Donald!”
“Well, Huey is right, Gizmoduck is a promising young hero. Darkwing Duck is from another city and he has more experience, and Duck Avenger is retired, so. Anyways, this is just a game, it really doesn’t matter who I choose.”
“Ha! In your faces!” Huey jumped, happily, the winner of the unsaid competition. Dewey and Louie groaned.
“Huey,” Donald warned.
“Sorry, Uncle Donald…”
Webby tried to regain the attention to their actual issue. “Well, let’s play, Uncle Donald!”
Donald lost more times than any other person they asked for, the kids were about to give up until, eventually, he screamed ‘It says this is the last level!’, the kids jumped and hovered around him to see the screen. It was, in fact, the last level. They all felt dread over their bodies. Even Donald was starting to tense over this simple game. He started the level and the kids even felt like they couldn’t breathe. For now, it was going well. He avoided the obstacles even when the kids distracted him with their shouts of ‘be careful!’, ‘no, to the left!’, ‘uuuuugh’ and ‘jump, no, run, no, just walk!’. He was almost getting to the same point that Uncle Gladstone was. He only needed to make a simple jump and not fall into the hole. Simple enough.
He fell. The kids’ spirits fell too. Nobody had ever felt into that hole, it was an easy jump.
“NO!”
“UNCLE DONALD, HOW? WHY DID YOU LOSE LIKE THIS?”
“WHY? WHY? IT WAS A SIMPLE JUMP!”
“UGH, SO CLOOOOOSE.”
“Um, kids, I fell into a secret room.”
All the kids stopped their wailing, confused and asked at the same time. “Secret room?”
In fact, there was a secret room. The kids started to shout again, happy and almost hysterical. Donald kept moving his character until he got to a door. It read ‘FINAL BOSS’. They all gulped. Donald made the character enter the doctor without much thought.
Donald did give the final boss, Negaduck, a fight. It was sad that he lost, anyways.
Donald sighed, mad at himself, feeling the dread of the disappoint he probably left in the kids. “I’m sorry I didn’t win your game, kids. I-”
The kids couldn’t care less, they all hugged him. Donald returned the hug, greatly surprised but confused nonetheless.
Huey was the first one to talk. “Are you kidding? You were the only one that found the secret room, Uncle Donald!”
“Yeah, that was pretty cool!” Dewey followed.
“Especially since not even Uncle Gladstone could. I mean, he didn’t lose, but he didn’t win either. It was weird.”
Donald was even more confused now. “Not even Gladstone?”
Webby smiled and reassured him. “Not even Gladstone. You’re the best, Uncle Donald!”
Donald smiled harder and hugged them harder. The kids just laughed, happily, hugging him in return. Who knew that what they actually needed was some little of bad luck?
New Story! "Father!–to God himself we cannot give a holier name," - William Wordsworth. Three Father's Days in the life of Matthew Murdock. Though his Dad died when he was young; there always seemed to be someone. One-shot- Rated K- Complete.
1.
He is eight years old, and his Dad is his superhero. He would do anything to show his Dad just how much he meant to him. All those nights stitching him up, he didn’t see that as weakness; he saw every scar on Jack’s face as a badge of honour. A symbol of his courage and perseverance. Matt wanted to do something to honour his Dad, and the approaching Father’s Day was his perfect opportunity. He stayed up late, his hands nimbly cutting and sticking all the different elements of his masterpiece together. His Dad was out fighting, and Matt was desperately trying to finish it before he got home.
The next morning, Matt races out of his own bed and jumps into his Dad’s, the present he has made clutched in his hand. Jack groans, rolling over to see his son’s large, enthusiastic brown eyes staring up at him.
“Happy Father’s Day, Dad!”
Jack’s face shows confusion, as he slowly wakes up and remembers the date. As he does, he wraps his arms around his son’s waist to pull him closer to him.
“Careful, you’ll squash my present for you.” Matt protests, pulling away from his dad’s embrace.
“Present? Matty, you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I didn’t get you anything- I made you something.”
Jack chuckles, “Okay smartass, what have you made me?”
Matt, shaking with a nervous excitement, passes his dad the rolled up piece of paper in his hand, tied somewhat neatly with a red ribbon. Jack’s eyebrow raises in curiosity as he unties the ribbon and unrolls the paper. His smile widens and his eyes light up as he takes in the picture.
BATTLING JACK MURDOCK
THE WORLD’S BEST BOXER.
The words are stuck at the top, the letters cut out from what Jack assumes must be various magazines and newspapers. Beneath the headline, Matt has drawn a picture of him, gloves on hand, belt on waist, and a crowd of fans around the edge of the ring. The closest person is a small boy, with a fringe full of brown hair drawn flopping in his face, and a big grin. Matt.
Jack is a tough guy. He doesn’t cry very often; but the gift is enough to cause a small tear to run down his cheek. The boy catches this, and his smile drops.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Jack quickly rubs the tears from his eyes and looks Matt directly in his. “This is the best present I ever did get.”
Matt’s beautiful smile returns as he throws his arms round his dad’s shoulders and holds him as tight as he can.
2.
Matt is eleven now. He sits there in his room at the orphanage, the nuns leaving him alone for the most part. His sightless eyes stare at a wall, whilst his hands do all the work. They fumble with the paper from the ice cream cone from that earlier day. He doesn’t really know why he’s doing this, but his childlike optimism tells him that the gesture will be appreciated. He knows that this gift won’t be finished by the end of today, and even if it was, he wasn’t even seeing the recipient today. The fact that he is making it on Father’s Day is important to him though. It’s a symbol of the man who is training Matt; teaching him to use his potential fully. Is that not what his Dad did before? Is that not the job of every father on this planet?
He sighs into the silence of the room. Maybe he’s just being silly. Stick probably hasn’t even realised that it’s Father’s Day. What was Stick’s father like? Matt wonders momentarily before catching himself, because he knows that it’s rude to wonder about other people’s personal business. Matt focuses on the paper in his hands. Even without his sight, he knows that he will be able to create something beautiful for Stick. He knows because that is what Stick has taught him. Sight is one of many distractions. Sure, Matt missed being able to see the world, but he was still able to see the world. He could see the dampness in the walls of his room at St. Agnes, the fact that the other kids were all nervous around him because they didn’t want to offend him, he could see the texture of the paper in front of him and the lingering scent of vanilla ice cream that hung in the fibres. He knows that he would never have been able to focus on these things without Stick’s help. Before Stick came, it was all burning and pain and multiple forces overwhelming him. Now, he is on his way to being able to refine that to sense each individual smell and sound and feel. All thanks to the mysterious man whose name was nothing but an object.
Matt was young, and to him, Stick had become a hero. Not in the way that his Dad was, nobody could replace that spot in Matt’s heart for Jack; but it was as if Stick was becoming something new- a figure for him to aspire to- though Matt knows that he could probably never be as sarcastic and ruthless in his speech as the old man was.
Matt quickly throws the bracelet under his pillow as he registers one of the sisters approaching his door, followed by the creaking of the door opening.
“Matthew?” Sister Helena says in her timid tone.
“Yes Sister Helena?”
“Your friend is here to see you?”
“My friend?” Matt inquires, just a second before he registers the musky masculine smell that he only associates with Stick. His face tries to hide his smile as he hears Stick’s cane tap his way into the room. He vaguely registers Sister Helena leaving the room.
“You’re not working hard enough Matty.” Stick states, no tact whatsoever.
“What do you mean?” Matt asks, slightly hurt.
“You should have known that it was me way before I entered the room. You’re not focusing on everything like I told you to.”
“I’m sorry Stick, I got distracted.”
“Distracted? Don’t you listen to a damn thing I say boy, you can’t allow yourself to get distracted- you’ve got to focus.”
Matt just nods obediently in response, knowing that though Stick can’t see it, he knows it.
“Come on then- let’s get going.”
“Going?”
“We got to go train.”
“We don’t usually train on Sundays?”
“Well I changed my mind today, now get up.”
Matt stands up quickly and prepares to leave. In the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder if Stick does know what day today is, and that’s why he’s met to train. Matt is hopeful at the thought.
3.
“Goodbye now. God be with you.” Father Lantom ushers the last few people out of the church, ready to have some quiet time. When he turns around, he’s not sure if he’ll be getting it today.
A twenty-eight year old Matt Murdock sits by himself on a pew in the middle of the church. Father Lantom approaches him, taking a seat in the row in front.
“That was an excellent sermon today, Father.” Matt comments.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it Matthew.” The older man smiles at the younger, who returns the gesture. Father Lantom is always amazed by how Matt reads people, even though he’s blind, but as always, he lets it slide. He knows that the Murdock boy is capable of a lot more than that.
“So Matthew, are you hanging around for confession, or did you want to get a latte?”
Matt laughs. “Neither actually, I just thought I would spend some time with you father; maybe just chat a little bit.”
The priest raises his eyebrows. “What brought this on suddenly?”
The lawyer shrugs in response. “It’s Father’s Day, I don’t have a Dad, you don’t have a son- I thought we may be a good fit.”
Father Lantom smiles at the young man that he has grown so attached to. “That doesn’t sound too awful.”
Matt smiles. “No discussions of vigilante activity or any of the usual stupid stuff that I bring in here. Let’s talk about normal things.”
“I spend most of my time here in the parish, Matthew, I can’t really do small talk and discussion of television that was on last night.”
“I can’t really do that either- I don’t own a tv.”
“Of course you don’t.” Father Lantom laughs, Matt joining in as well.
So they discuss other things. Music and literature and the love of God. Matt feels comfortable in the presence of Father Lantom, and it does remind him of the days when he could sit and chill with his dad. He absolutely loves the fact that it's become like that. Matt so often tells himself that he's alone, and though most would see it as sad that his priest being as close as a friend, for Matt it is a reminder that he doesn’t have to hide everything about himself away from everyone. He would expect Father Lantom to be shocked and appalled at the life he leads, but he has found that the older man always has an air of curiosity rather than judgement, and that is a weight lifted off Matt’s chest.
As Matt rises to leave, he pauses to rest a hand on Father Lantom’s shoulder. “Thank you. I truly mean that. You’ve been a great help to me Father.”
Father Lantom smiles, but brushes off the compliment. “It is God you should be thanking Matthew. He is the father who has kept you safe all these years.”
Matt smiles, and with a final nod leaves the parish. Maybe he’s not so alone after all.
