Matt realizes, with a start, while lying in bed one night, arms wrapped around Frank, nose pressed into the nape of his neck, short hairs tickling his skin, that this won't last. That there's no version of them in this universe where their relationship will last. They're just too different, their morals will never align, and compromise isn't really compromise if it throws all of your beliefs away.
And in this very second, when all these thoughts flit in and out of Matt's head, his heart screams in agony. Because, for once, he has been really happy. His life has been good, just because Frank has been with him for the past few months. Frank, who can be so tender and loving and romantic while they are in private. Who will take Matt's hand just to absentmindedly rub his thumbs over his skin in circles. Who will cook and use the exact amount of spice to make Matt's mouth water. Who will kiss him goodnight and who will kiss him in the morning.
Matt's heart screams and cries and rips itself apart at the seams.
He doesn't want to let Frank go. But he knows it will inevitably happen. They're just too different in the things that really matter.
But for now, and his arms just wrap a tad bit tighter around Frank, who grunts in his sleep, while snuggling back into Matt's chest—for now he will take what he can get. He will keep Frank as long as he can.
There's something particularly peculiar about the owner of the bookshop on Whickber Street in Soho, London. Not only does he dress like it is still the 1800s (which suits him very well if you asked Maggie from the record shop next door), pocket watch at hand, and always a friendly smile on his face, he is also frequently seen with a black snake with piercing yellow eyes wrapped around his neck. Now, this is, as witnesses will tell you, indeed a real, living snake—alas not even the most proficient snake expert will be able to tell you the species. You see, it is not a species known to humankind at all, which is not surprising in the slightest, because if you were to collect all the snakes in the world, there would be none that would even remotely match this one specimen. The only thing all these experts are in agreement about, though, is that this particular snake is, in all likelihood, venomous (based on other venomous and non-venomous snakes that are, unlike this one, known to mankind). But Mr. A. Z. Fell doesn't seem to be fazed by this, humming while he putters around in his bookshop, and occasionally petting the snake, which is contently curled around his shoulders.
Or: How humans perceive Aziraphale and his sometimes not-so-human-shaped … friend? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? The weird guy with the sunglasses.
Fuck it, I'm gonna put out my ideas for a Fratt Pacific Rim!AU. Do with this what you want.
Okay, lemme paint the background picture.
SHIELD are the ones behind the Jaeger program, with Nick Fury at the head. Once Curtis lost his leg during That One Mission, Fury seeks him out and recruits him (like Fury does), which leads to Curt dragging in Frank and Billy, because he knows they would be damn good at operating a Jaeger together.
Now on to Frank.
Frank and Billy were marines and friends first, so they have the discipline and they are drift compatible. They go on a lot of missions (don't have a name for their Jaeger yet—maybe The Punisher? *coughs*)—successful missions. They're the heroes of the Jaeger program. Until everything goes to shit. A Kaiju attacks New York and kills Frank's family. Frank and Billy try to stop it, but they fail, their Jaeger breaks, and Billy dies on this mission. Frank is … not in a good place. He wants to find a new partner, wants to take revenge, but Fury and Curt deem him too unstable and pull him out of the program. Frank goes back to New York (meeting the Liebermans during that time).
((Lieberman tie-in.
David do as David does and hacks into databases he shouldn't hack into. So when he finds stuff he shouldn't find, he panics. But he knows that a rather legendary Jaeger pilot (Frank) is back in New York, so he finds him.
"You have the connections! You can tell SHIELD about the illegal Kaiju trade!"
Frank does not want to do this. He does not. He tells David as much, shoves his middle finger into his face, and leaves. But David is a persistent asshole, so he tracks him down. Again. And again. And again. Until Frank groans and comes by to at least look at what David has found. That's when he meets David's family ('cause he has his set-up down in the basement of his house). Of course Leo, Zach, and Sarah make Frank stay for dinner. And then they make him come over again. And again. And again. Until he can't help but feel integrated into their family. Goddamnit.))
And now on to Matt.
Matt has been part of the Jaeger program family since he was a kid. Jack got recruited just after Matt got blinded, desperately needing to provide for his son, and the people at SHIELD were his best bet to give Matt the care he needed. Jack actually was Fury's partner and they operated a Jaeger together (also no name for this one—maybe Daredevil? *coughs*). Of course shit goes south and Jack dies during a mission, Fury taking it upon himself to keep Matt at the base and raise him.
Matt goes on to become one of their analysts, one of the best (at one point Foggy and Karen get recruited, too, and work alongside him). Despite not being able to see any of the Kaiju and the samples that end up at the base, Matt can draw conclusions from the data he has like nobody else. He, Foggy, and Karen find out about the pattern in which Kaiju will appear.
Now onto Frank and Matt meeting.
This discovery prompts Fury to seek out Frank, because, well, they need the best of the best and it has been years by now, so he wants to give Frank another chance. Frank comes back when he hears what's at stake (and brings the Liebermans with him—he doesn't want to lose another family and David can join Matt, Foggy, and Karen). The problem is—nobody is drift compatible with him. They try the best of the best: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, etc. None of them work.
On one night, Frank thinks it would be best to find out anything he can, so he goes to the lab and asks the analysts himself for all the details. Because he knows Fury and he knows that Fury's secrets have secrets. And that's when he meets Matt, that's when he realizes how goddamn fucking smart he is. And he wants to try to drift with Matt.
Fury is like, hell no, of course. But Frank is nothing if not persistent, and Matt has a secret desire to try this. Because of his dad. Because the Murdock boys have the Devil in them. Because he is just so tired of not doing enough. Fury is still like, hell no. So Matt and Frank just. Do it. Without Fury's permission. 'Cause they're assholes.
Of course Matt, never having drifted before, goes down the rabbit hole. That's when Frank learns that Battlin' Jack Murdock—the man he had looked up to since he was a kid—was Matt's dad.
I have a shitton of other ideas, all expanding the universe and including other characters. But this is the more specific stuff I came up with.
"I … I have to believe that there's good in people, Frank. That … That they can change." Red looks tired. So fucking tired, with his shoulders slumped and his knuckles bloody. "Because if I don't … If … If … I have to believe that there's good in me."
Josie's Bar gets an old, tattered piano. Matt makes it a habit of playing it each time he goes for drinks (after pestering from Foggy and Karen). Of course, being the little shit he is, the first song he plays is Piano Man by Billy Joel.
One night Frank shuffles into Josie's, coincidentally at the same time Matt is playing. And Frank stands and listens to Matt sing and play and falls a little bit in love.
❛ you’re avoiding the subject and you know it. what are you hiding from me? ❜
It had become routine by now, really, sitting together on a rooftop while doing recon. Frank was lying on his stomach, eye pressed against the scope of his sniper rifle, a lukewarm bottle of coffee right next to him, while Matt was leaning against the concrete railing and nibbling on a sandwich that Frank had so kindly provided, mask discarded next to him. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Seeing anything?" Matt asked between bites, his ears perked for anything out of the ordinary, but picking up nothing. He had asked just to break the silence, knowing that Frank was staring at an empty warehouse across the street. No gang activity to be detected.
"Naah," came the predicted answer and the unmistakable sounds of Frank changing positions reached Matt's ears. "Don't think anything's gonna happen tonight. It's already—" more clothes rustling as Frank looked at his watch "—3 a.m. 'S getting late."
Matt only nodded in reply, finishing his sandwich, while Frank started on his own.
It was nice, being together like this. It had become their little thing, after months of bickering and fighting and yelling at each other. They had something like a … truce. Had come to an agreement. It had taken a lot of nagging and compromise on both parts and none of them was really happy with the outcome, but it worked. They worked. And they worked well together. Like they were a team.
Matt shook his head and smiled to himself. If anyone had told him after the first time he had encountered Frank that they would become something like reluctant friends—Foggy would call them frenemies—he would've thought that person was taking crazy pills.
But here they were, like old pals, sitting and eating sandwiches and drinking lukewarm coffee together at 3 a.m. And it was nice. It was really, really nice. It was nice to have someone who understood him in ways that Foggy and Karen just couldn't. Nothing against them, but they just didn't know what Matt was really facing—the emotions and hardships that came with the job. But Frank understood. Frank got him.
And that was something Matt treasured. Not many people understood. But Frank did, and as much as he was a hardass most of the time, he knew when to be … gentle. When Matt needed reassurance instead of a wake-up call. And he was surprisingly good at that.
Those were the moments when Matt realized time and again that Frank was a father and that he had probably used the same voice to calm down his children from nightmares that he used when Matt was upset. When Matt couldn't save someone. When he had failed. Again. And Frank had just been there, soothing, soft words whispered against his face, foreheads touching—because Frank was perceptive and had noticed early on that Matt was a very tactile person and that touch grounded him.
Frank understood.
"Penny for your thoughts," Frank grunted and plopped down next to Matt, their shoulders touching. His face was turned towards Matt, leaving the smell of coffee and lettuce and ham in the wake of his words.
Matt's smile turned crooked. "Nothing," he said and bumped his shoulder against Frank's. It wouldn't do him any good to get all sappy on Frank Castle of all people. Besides, Matt's thoughts were none of Frank's business anyway. "How's Max doing?" he asked instead, trying to steer Frank in another direction. As much as Matt had appreciated Frank's perceptiveness in the past, right now he could not deal with it.
"He's fine. We're working on his anxiety. He's making progress, y'know? Slow but steady," Frank said, mouth full of sandwich just to fuck with Matt, because he knew Matt hated it when people talked with their mouths full. "He's a good dog. And now tell me what's on yer mind. Ya seemed awfully absent there a minute ago."
Matt gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore Frank's antics. And his attempt to tickle the truth out of Matt. "Is he getting better with strangers?"
"He's fine with strangers," Frank said in his eye-roll-voice. "But ya don't actually wanna know about Max. Stop it."
"Stop what?" Matt asked and did his best to sound innocent. Which was probably the biggest mistake he could've made as Frank was like a shark—and he had smelled blood.
"Stop the act. You're avoiding the subject and ya know it," Frank said. "What are ya hiding from me? You spaced out awfully back there and that usually means you're self-flagellating in yer head."
Matt snorted. Not that Frank was wrong, but this time he had missed the mark. "It's really nothing, Frank. I'm fine. It's a slow night. My thoughts drifted—nothing new."
"Yeah, sure. Ya tell yourself that, Red," Frank said and took a sip from his coffee, which was probably cold by now. Matt shuddered at the thought. But then—he had drunk worse than cold coffee during his college days. "C'mon, ya can tell me, ya know that. I'll only judge ya a bit."
"Very reassuring," Matt laughed and plucked the bottle from Frank's hand to take a sip himself, just to shudder immediately. Yep, definitely cold and disgusting. "Just late-night thoughts."
"Sounds interesting," Frank replied and stole the bottle back to empty it. "Entertain me."
"I'd rather not." Frank was getting uncomfortably under his skin and Matt knew if Frank kept prying, he would spill sooner or later. Frank just had that effect on him.
They're shoulders bumped again and Matt could feel Frank leaning against him, mouth close to his ear, coffee breath wafting over Matt's skin. "C'mon, Red, humor me. It's just you and me here, no witnesses."
Matt chuckled and leaned his head against Frank's. That's how far they'd come, basically cuddling on a rooftop while having a silly conversation. "Sounds like you want to murder me, Frank."
"Naah," Frank denied immediately, "would've done that ages ago if that were my goal."
Matt sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Don't think you would succeed. I'm too clever for you."
Frank hmmd next to him and his buzzed hair rubbed against Matt's skin as he nodded. "You're probably right, ninja boy. Still wanna hear what ya were thinking 'bout, though."
Matt sighed. And then he finally broke. Because what was the worst that could happen? Frank would tease him, push his buttons a bit, but he wouldn't be cruel about it. And then they'd just go on with their lives like they always did.
"I was just thinking about how far we've come. I mean, look at us! We're acting like friends instead of fighting each other. If anyone had told me back then that we would work together on the regular, I would've laughed at them and told them to get their head examined," Matt said and put as much humor into his voice as he could. The last thing he wanted was to sound like a sap in front of Frank. He could do that in front of Foggy. Maybe in front of Karen. But not Frank. They weren't there yet and maybe they'd never get there. And that was okay.
"Yeah," Frank just said and Matt had expected … something else. But not this one word in a weird tone. It was a bit unlike Frank, but it was also very much like Frank. He wasn't a man of many words.
Matt shrugged. "I don't know. It was just something I was thinking about. You and me sitting here together, eating sandwiches and drinking shitty coffee …" he chuckled and lifted his head, "It's not something I could've ever imagined. But I don't hate it. I actually like it. You're good company, Frank. You're a good person and I like spending time with you. These nights together? They're … respite. For me."
Frank lifted his head, too, now, reducing the amount of bodily contact between them even more, and Matt didn't know if he liked that. But then there was a hand on his cheek, callouses rubbing against his skin, catching on his stubble, but the touch was gentle, and Matt couldn't help but lean into it.
They were now facing each other, no touch between them but for the hand on Matt's cheek, a thumb rubbing soothing circles against his skin. Something had shifted in the air between them, making it hard to breathe, suffocating in a way that was heavy on Matt's chest.
"Gettin' pretty sappy on me here, Red," Frank said, voice rough, like he had smoked a whole pack of cigarettes just now. But there was no smell of cigarettes or smoke as Frank had given up that habit months ago after Matt had complained one too many times about it.
Matt swallowed. "Well, you asked." His mouth was dry and he licked his lips, a nervous habit he could never quite quell.
"I did," Frank said, barely audible, but his breath reached Matt and he was reminded that Frank always smelled like coffee. Not just now when he had drunk it only moments ago, but always. It was the scent that surrounded him at all times. Of course there were others, like gunpowder and dog and leather—but coffee was a constant and it always blanketed all the other smells. It was a certain brand of coffee and Matt had learned to associate this smell exclusively with Frank.
Matt licked his lips again. "What now?" Because this was new. They'd never been in a situation like this and Matt was out of his depth.
"Now I'm gonna kiss ya. If ya let me," Frank mumbled, only inches from Matt's lips.
PROMPT ❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜
It wasn't the first time that Matt noticed how Frank treated his books. How carefully he placed anything that could resemble a bookmark between the pages. How gently he handled the paperbacks that he brought with him on stakeouts. Never licking his fingers to turn a page, never breaking the spines, never dog-earing the pages.
He cared about the books so much that Matt wondered why he even brought them with him on recon missions, on stakeouts, on anything that could turn into a fight at any time. He had even witnessed him going back once with a broken arm to retrieve one of his books that he had left on a rooftop before jumping straight into a fight.
Not that Matt complained. He treasured books as well, but mostly because they held a lot of knowledge—and because Braille books were expensive and he didn't have the money to replace the ones he had. Especially the ones about law, which were a whole different price class entirely. It hurt him a bit to think about anything happening to them.
Which was the reason he would never bring any of his books on his patrols.
Not like Frank.
But Matt also benefited from Frank carrying around his books as Frank would read to him occasionally, while they were waiting. And (Matt would never admit this out loud) he liked Frank's voice. He liked it when Frank read to him with his low, raspy rumble, like he had smoked too many cigarettes. It was soothing, even though the books were usually collections of poems, which were rarely to Matt's taste. But hearing Frank's voice was nice.
"Did these books belong to Maria?" Matt didn't mean to ask. It just slipped out when he, once again, heard how carefully Frank treated the book he was holding right now. Basically caressing it's spine, his fingers ghosting over the pages to keep track of where he was.
Frank grunted, his body shifting, so he was facing Matt. "Why ya askin', Red?" Frank replied. He didn't sound guarded, something that Matt would've expected upon bringing up his family. But then he remembered how long they had been doing this—working together. How long they had known each other by now.
So Matt bit the bullet and shrugged. "I just noticed how you treat all the books you bring. They're in pristine condition and you take care of them very well. I know you have a case in your bag to put your book into, so it won't get damaged. It belonging to Maria made the most sense to me."
Frank hummed, as if he was thinking. What there was to think about, Matt didn't know. It was a simple yes or no question—if Frank wanted to answer at all.
"Naah," Frank said finally. "Ain't Maria's. Bought them myself. Y'know, I read a lot while I was deployed. Most of the books in our home belonged to me."
Matt hadn't expected this answer, and it pleasantly surprised him that he was learning something new about Frank. He smiled. "Didn't expect that."
There was a laugh. "Yeah, I know. I don't seem the type," Frank said and his leather coat rustled as he shrugged his shoulders.
"No, you don't. Didn't even know you could read," Matt agreed, grinning, and got gently kicked in the leg for his cheek. Laughing he added, "I was just surprised—most people don't treat their books this well. I don't think I've ever witnessed you treating anything—or anyone—this well."
"No reason to treat anyone this well," Frank replied immediately. He had put his book away by now, safely into its little case in his bag.
"No? Why not?" Now Matt was frowning. As much as he respected Frank's treatment of his books, he was surprised that Frank would put books above humans.
Frank shifted, until he was sitting right next to Matt. Their shoulders touching, body heat warming Matt's left side.
There was a sigh. Then Frank said, "Nobody left to treat this well. By now books mean more to me than people anyway."
There was a heaviness in his voice, melancholy beyond comprehension. Matt's heart hurt for the man right next to him, for the man who had lost everything and would never forget. Would never be able to get over what happened to his family—and how could he? How could anyone get over something so painful? Matt had never gotten over his dad's death, so he wouldn't expect Frank to get over his family's death.
"I'm sorry." And what more could he offer anyway? Only empty platitudes.
"Don't be, Red," Frank said, his head hitting the concrete railing behind them with a gentle thud. "Not you."
Matt cocked his head, confused. "Not me?"
"Naah, not you," Frank repeated and if Matt wasn't mistaken, there was a slight smile in his voice.
"Huh. Okay," Matt just said, still confused, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to tickle anything more out of Frank tonight. He would just have to be patient and maybe one day Frank would share his thoughts with him. But he couldn't help it, he still had to ask, "Will you tell me? Eventually?"
Now Frank laughed. "Maybe one day. If ya ain't a little shit."
So. Imagine the world post-blip. But society didn't claw itself back into a kind of normalcy and the blip didn't get reversed—instead it all turned into some kind of dystopian nightmare. The remaining Avengers have vanished off the face of the Earth, gone into hiding, not to be seen again. Spider-Man was gone, as were most of the other streetlevel heroes.
Except for Matt and Frank.
Matt and Frank … They have lost everyone. It was just a big fat bunch of bad luck. The Liebermans? Gone. Curtis? Gone. Foggy, Karen, Claire … Everyone was gone. But amidst all the suffering and pain and loss, they kept going. There were still people who needed their help. So they soldiered on.
And … they find each other. Familiar faces in the middle of the world ending. Love sparks between them. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't bring their friends back. But it's there. It's still important that it's there, because it keeps them going, keeps them alive, between all the debris and the scars littering their skin.
