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Chapter Text

He’s heard tell of the new member amongst the ever-growing ranks of superheroes in New York. There are no clear descriptions of the guy aside from his costume because everyone who gets close enough to get a good look at him gets so badly concussed that they can’t remember a damn thing, they've been brutally "interrogated" and are too terrified and traumatized to even say their own damn name, or they're the grateful citizen of Hell's Kitchen who was rescued by the new vigilante. Word starts to spread that the Devil is in Hell's Kitchen, and Tony would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by the guy's moniker. He's assuming the Devil of Hell's Kitchen didn't pick it out for himself but rather it was given to him because of some attribute he shared with Christianity's resident bad-boy. There are a few vague posts on social media made by people who claimed they were rescued by the Man in Black, but not enough that Tony can glean anything significant from the available information. 

At first Tony doesn’t pay much attention to the situation other than telling Jarvis to keep an eye on the Dread Pirate Roberts rip-off. Shortly after the vigilante manages to get on his radar more important and imminent problems crop up, for example, Douche von Doom deciding to unleash his Doombots (Doombots? Really? Tony doesn’t call the unmanned suits Starkbots even though that is significantly catchier in his refined opinion) on Park Avenue.  Jarvis, ever the loyal and unforgetful sidekick, keeps his eye (read: every CCTV camera in Hell’s Kitchen with encryption lower than military grade) on the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen which as a name, let’s be honest, is less catchy than “Doombot”.

Time passes and Manhattan's newest Super doesn't do anything else to land himself on the radar of either Shield or the Avengers, so Tony just... forgets about him. He has a multi-billion dollar company to run and mental health issues to avoid, so it's really no surprise that he buries himself in his lab often enough to avoid the topic of superheroes almost entirely. But the Devil eventually pops back up, and it isn't in a small way.

Hell's Kitchen looks like-- no, scratch that-- is a goddamn war zone. Multiple warehouses and buildings have been blown to shit, the streets are covered in flaming rubble, and people are looting every store in the neighborhood as if the apocalypse has arrived. An hour or so after the bombings a news channel gets their hands on some grainy security footage showing the now-beloved vigilante taking out a pair of cops with his freaky ninja skills and then bolting with one of the suspected heads of a human trafficking ring. At this point, Tony finally decides to ask Jarvis for an update on the Devil.

There isn't nearly as much footage as he would've hoped. Like in many impoverished areas, the majority of security cameras in Hell's Kitchen are just for show. While a few are real and functioning, most don't record at all, and a shocking number don't even hook into a power source. Being an NSA analyst is probably a lot more frustrating than Tony originally assumed considering all he's gotten from unlimited access and frickin' artificial intelligence is a total of eight minutes and thirty-two seconds of grainy, dark footage. What he can see in the footage is impressive though; the so-called Devil is an incredible fighter-- as in could probably last more than one round in the ring with Natasha. The more he watches he starts to realize that the guy would probably actually be able to do some serious damage to Nat before she could take him down. The fighting style he uses looks like an amalgamation of different styles and disciplines, so Tony can't help but wonder where this guy learned it.

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen appears to use a unique combination of jiu-jitsu, muay thai, krav maga, and boxing moves,” Jarvis supplies helpfully.

Whoops, he must’ve said that last part out loud.

“Yes, it appears you did, Sir.”

That’s what Tony gets for substituting borderline obscene amounts of coffee for three nights’ sleep, but it doesn’t deter him from continuing the trend as he heads up to the common floor’s kitchen. He'd, unfortunately (and in his opinion unfairly), had his coffee-in-the-lab privilege taken away by Pepper after he'd blown something up for the third time in as many days.

As soon as the elevator doors open Tony's nose is assaulted by a wave of a sickeningly sweet, mildly burnt fruity scent that almost makes him just go straight back down to his lab. But Tony is not, has not, and will never be a quitter, and honestly by this point his scientific curiosity has been piqued so he shrugs, says fuck it, and heads towards the source of the smell.

Why is he not surprised by who he finds at ground zero?

“What the actual fuck are you drinking, Barton?” Tony asks with a bit of a grimace and all of the disappointed parental tone that he'd gotten from his father on a daily basis for years.

Clint sets down the coffee pot he’d been drinking directly from (the god damn animal), and smiles, wincing slightly when the expression pulls at his split lip and jostles the Hawkeye-purple bruise on his cheek. Honestly, Clint should get the look trademarked. “It’s coffee. But instead of water, I used Redbull. And instead of cream, I used Five Hour Energy.”

Tony doesn’t think his face can portray the amount of repulsion he’s currently feeling for his teammate, but he tries his best. “Jesus Christ—did you substitute sugar for cocaine while you were at it, Frankenstein?” he asks with just the right amount of disdain an exhaustion coloring his voice.

Clint just shrugs in response and continues his one-man crusade to commit suicide by caffeine overdose. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“If it’s cocaine you’re referring to: been there, done that, got the media fallout. If it’s your monstrosity: hard pass,” Tony replies as he opens up the cupboard just to the left of the fridge and pulls out a bag of chocolate covered espresso beans because he needs to eat and he needs caffeine so hey, two birds, one stone, and all that jazz.

Clint just snorts amicably at the answer and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You hear about what’s going on in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Tony nods and glares at his beloved espresso beans because he can't glare at himself for letting the vigilante situation get out of hand. “I got J to start a file on the guy when reports first started coming in, but he was kicking in rapists’ faces so I just assumed he was one of the good, albeit totally unbalanced, guys.”

“Yeah. But as you said, he’s unbalanced. That costume doesn’t do much in the way of protection, wouldn't surprise me if he just got hit in the head one too many times and snapped,” Clint replies. “You gonna go track him down?”

Tony shrugs vaguely. “I feel like Iron Man’s done enough damage to Manhattan. Tony Stark the benevolent, devoted, wonderful public servant,” that earns him an unattractive snort from Clint, “however, is going to share his files on tall, dark, and bludgeon-y with the police.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person. It’ll make people think you’re the unbalanced one—oh wait.”

Tony throws one of the beans at Clint with an indignant “Hey!” while Clint simply catches it and considers it for a moment before dropping it into his “coffee” and taking another sip.

Tony pretends to retch. “That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. I’m leaving,” he says as he moves from his relaxed position leaning against the counter and heads back to the already opening elevator doors because Jarvis predicted exactly what he wanted and is truly the only benevolent, devoted, wonderful public servant in the building. Well, maybe Pepper too.

Clint just flips him off as he walks past, and Tony returns the gesture before disappearing back down to his lab. In all fairness, he does send most of Jarvis’s files on the Devil to the captain down at the fifteenth precinct. It’s not his fault that he forgot to check and make sure those videos hadn’t been stolen (“Appropriated with good intentions!” “Stolen Tony. You stole police files.”) from the aforementioned precinct. Pepper was going to be so disappointed.

Things happen pretty quickly after that. Daredevil starts prancing around in red leather fetish gear shortly before it’s proven that the man in black had been framed by some big, bald asshole for the bombings. According to multiple sources, the new sex shop mannequin (“You have a lot of experience with what those look like, Tony?” “Shove it, Barton.”) was indeed the same person as the Masked Man/Man in Black/Devil of Hell's Kitchen/Daredevil (Jesus, dude. Leave some names for the rest of us). Those sources include Jarvis who compares the fighting styles on the grainy CCTV footage along with approximate height, weight, and build and finds the results to be “As close to conclusive as they could possibly be, Sir.” and Natasha who insists that no way in hell did two separate people have both those ass-kicking skills and that ass (everyone has to agree with her on that one albeit a bit begrudgingly on Steve’s part). They start keeping closer tabs on Daredevil and on multiple occasions, movie night has devolved into all the Avengers (sans Thor) gathering around to watch Jarvis’s latest found-footage compilation of the vigilante who is annoyingly good at avoiding security cameras and sticking to the shadows.

The way he fights is both mesmerizing and completely fucking terrifying. He’s got the brutality of the damn Hulk coupled with the speed and agility of Natasha, though everyone’s still pretty sure that their own Black Widow could beat him if it came to the two of them trading blows in a back alley. They don’t have a betting pool on those odds because Natasha would definitely find out and they would be the ones that ended up bloody in an alley.

On one of these movie nights, Jarvis has some especially good footage that leaves everyone stunned. The video quality is better than usual because the docks where it was filmed are new and shiny along with the security system and apparently incredibly stupid gang that owns the shipping company. (Seriously-- who films themselves shoving women into cargo containers and doesn’t even encrypt it well?) While the aforementioned idiots are herding women and children (Jesus Christ, children) into a dingy, old storage container their attention is all drawn away by what must be a loud noise. Every bad guy’s head shoots up to look in the direction the noise came from and they draw their weapons while two men resume their yelling and battering and dragging to get their victims ready to ship out. Daredevil drops out of motherfucking nowhere and knocks one of the guys flat out with a single punch. The other baddies lose their shit and start emptying their clips into where Daredevil is, and the absolute madman does a series of aerial flips that would make Simone Biles cry from the sheer beauty without getting hit once. There’s a flash of a few light colored pixels where Daredevil bares his teeth or smiles (they can’t decide which prospect is more disturbing) the second before the guys run out of ammo. Daredevil is on them in a flash. The bad guys still have numbers on him, so when they’re on either side of him and in between two shipping containers things look pretty grim until Daredevil basically runs straight up the side of the container and ends up kicking three of the men straight in the face before he even hits the ground. While he’s finishing off the last guy, the first guy to be incapacitated wakes up and reaches for his gun a good twenty-five feet away and directly behind Daredevil. Without even turning to look, Daredevil delivers a knee-shattering blow to the man he’s been pummeling at the same time he throws a baton that hits square between the gun wielder’s eyes and knocks him back out. After that, he hauls the guy he'd been beating on to his feet and shoves him against the side of the shipping container, a smear of blood left behind from where his head thumps against the metal. The Devil shakes the man violently a few times and gets blood spat on him for his efforts before he gives what's definitely a smile and uses his remaining baton to obliterate the guy's other kneecap in one hit. Daredevil asks him another question but not even Clint can read the guy's lips. The human trafficker gives a jerky head-shake, and Daredevil break's the guy's finger. Trafficker holds out for another two fingers before he gives in and tells Daredevil whatever it is he wants to hear. That part in itself is a bit odd because it's insanely clear that this guy has had professional training, and all professionals know that answers derived from torture can't be trusted unless you have some magical method of telling whether or not a person is lying. Once Daredevil has his answer, he's merciful enough to knock the guy out before stalking out of frame for a moment. When he returns the women and children are close behind him and he appears to be giving them directions somewhere before melting into the shadows and disappearing entirely.

“Woah,” Clint says eloquently as the violence dies out and Daredevil goes to help the four women and two kids get to safety somewhere.

“Woah is an understatement,” Steve replies, looking equal parts disturbed and impressed. “Who is that guy?”

“Someone whose bad side I’d rather not be on,” Natasha supplies grimly.

Chapter Text

Natasha is of the general opinion that they should let the Devil be. He has clearly defined morals even if they are a bit convoluted. He’ll beat people into comas and throw them off buildings, but by some miracle, he knows just how far he can go without killing someone. His victims get arrested in states ranging from a split lip and mild concussion to might’ve-just-escaped-Guantanamo. His torture isn’t precise and fit for espionage like what the Red Room taught her, but instead brutal with an almost wartime feel about it. He never cuts people—never carries a weapon other than the batons or billy-club that she might be just a tad jealous of, but he’ll use them to shatter kneecaps and elbows after he’s broken every finger on the person. He’s only predictable in the fact that he doesn’t kill; everything else is random according to the police reports Jarvis helped her obtain. Sometimes they’ll get a murderer with nothing more than a broken wrist and a con-man beaten so badly that he’ll likely never walk again. Natasha doesn’t like unpredictable people, so she does a bit of research of her own. If the police had the resources that she has then they might’ve been able to find out that three children from the con man's apartment building had recently started seeing therapists after acting out in certain (rather telling) ways at school. A bit more research reveals that the Devil is especially harsh on people who have hurt children, and the unrest in Natasha’s gut settles down. Everyone has patterns they follow, and now she knows his.

Because the world works in mysterious ways (and because fate loves a chance at irony) the one Avenger who is most adamant about leaving the Devil alone is the first to have an encounter with him.

Natasha enjoys taking walks at night when there are fewer people on the streets. She usually wanders for a few hours each night, taking different routes with no destination ever in mind. It gives her a chance to think and to enjoy the freedom that she’d always dreamed of having despite the Red Room’s best efforts to burn any sort of independent will out of her. Her ambling has taken her through Hell’s Kitchen before, but she’s never had anything near an encounter so she lets that slip to the back of her mind. She has respect for what the Devil does, and she’s sure enough that he won’t target her. The voices of children in her mind tell her she should worry, that far too much of the red in her ledger is from their slit throats, but she pushes those voices further back, keeps them packed away under lock and key.

She’s just walked past a Chinese restaurant when she hears the familiar sounds of punches landing and someone catching a steel-toed boot to the jaw. Hell’s Kitchen is a rough neighborhood, (even rougher since The Incident) so it isn’t surprising that someone is getting the shit kicked out of them in an alley. No matter the place, she can’t help but head towards the noises (her internal scales are so, so unbalanced. Maybe if she helps people the weight will begin to even out). Natasha doesn’t need to help anyone though, because when she rounds the corner the Devil is already staring at her, two unconscious men lying on the pavement nearby.

Natasha’s footsteps have always been light enough that nobody could ever tell she was coming if she didn’t want them to; the hours of excruciating “ballet practice” (torture, it was torture) taught her that skill. To have the Devil waiting for her with his club in hand and head cocked to the side is enough to make her heart’s ever-steady rhythm jump and falter.

The Devil evaluates her for a moment and her hand twitches with the urge to reach for the gun under her jacket. He seems to predict this and the club hits her hand, knocking the gun from it before she even has a chance to blink. The club retracts back to its other half still in the Devil’s hand, and he gives her a smile that makes her skin crawl slightly. There’s blood on his teeth, and the expression would almost be charming if not for that (if not for the general aura around him that makes a little girl’s voice in her mind scream out wrong! repeatedly). Natasha doesn’t want to take her chances fighting the Devil, because even if she wins it's doubtful she'll make it out without grievous injuries. He has weapons and body armor while she only has the knife in her boot that she doubts she can get to before it’s knocked from her hand as well. So she does the other thing she’s good at: talking.

“You’ll have to tell me where you got that club,” she says, forcing an air of calm about herself from the cadence of her words to the newly relaxed posture (dropped shoulders, open palms). The Devil doesn’t buy it, staying just as alert as he had been before he’d even had the chance to see her.

The Devil smiles at her again, his voice pitched deep and gravelly as he speaks. “I have a guy.”

“Think he’ll make me one if I ask real nice?” she drawls, leaning against the damp brick wall and batting her eyelashes though the gesture seems wasted on him.

There’s a soft huff from the Devil, and she thinks it must be his laugh. “I doubt it. He made me this one because he owes me.”

Natasha opens her mouth to shoot back a clever reply, but a sharp clang behind her draws her attention for a second, if not less (if she hadn’t already been so on edge she would’ve been able to keep her focus on the Devil). When the sound has no immediately obvious source she turns back to where the Devil had been standing, only to find the space vacant apart from the two unconscious men. She hadn’t heard a single footstep or rustle from his clothing when he moved. The voice in her mind reaches and fever pitch and every hair on her body stands up on end. The way he knew she was coming, the predatory grin and the disturbing way he just let his head hang slightly to the side and tilted it to follow her every move no matter how slight. Not to mention the way he disappeared into the inky blackness of the alley without leaving a trace of ever having been there aside from his bloodied and battered victims. The voice is right; something about the Devil is very, very wrong.

Once Natasha is safely back at the Tower and has settled herself in the armchair with the best sightlines on the common floor she observes her surroundings to make sure the wrongness was the Devil himself and not that she’d somehow lost her skills. She can tell from the way Stark breathes that he didn’t sleep last night, and she can hear Steve’s footsteps in the kitchen without looking for him. Clint is screwing around on his phone on the other end of the couch from Tony, and she can tell from the way his face is screwed up and his shoulders are hunched that he’s probably texting his ex-wife. Bruce is at the counter drinking the tea he always seems to have close at hand when he’s stressed, and judging from the tablet he’s scrolling through and the way he’s mouthing words she can tell he’s rehearsing his speech for an upcoming conference. She hasn’t lost it. Three deep, measured breaths later and she allows herself to speak.

“I met the Devil tonight,” she announces calmly.

All of the eyes in the room look to her, varying degrees of shock displayed on their easily readable faces.

Two more breaths. “He’s didn’t seem quite… human.”

Chapter Text

Natasha’s description of her encounter with Daredevil leaves them all speculating about what he actually was.

“Not quite human as in check with the X-men to see if they’re missing someone or not quite human as in runaway science project of one of the cape-wearing idiots we have to handle?” Tony asks after the general clamor has calmed down significantly.

“Like the eels with legs?” Bruce asks.

That earns him a shudder from Steve. “Lord don’t remind me of those things.”

“I can’t attest to either of those being accurate descriptions,” Natasha answers simply, sipping at the coffee Steve had kindly made for her. She’d had to get Tony to pass her his whiskey so she could add a bit though. “It was more like he’d observed people extensively and just fell a little short in replicating mannerisms. Negligible things, but just enough off from normal to set me off.”

“Are we sure he’s not just odd?” Bruce asks, setting his tea down on the table in front of the couch to give his hands a break from the heat of the ceramic. “Most normal people don’t go around in costumes beating criminals half to death, so he might just be a weird guy with weird behaviors. He doesn’t seem like the most well-adjusted person if we’re being honest.”

“Okay yeah, maybe he’s just a weirdo, but I’ve met a lot of violent wackos and none of them have ever been able to sneak away from me, much less from Tasha,” Clint points out. “My money’s on science project.”

Tony replies with a snort and a snide remark of “What money?” before the team devolves into the children they are when Clint decides to beat Tony with one of the very tasteful throw pillows that cover the couch. When Bruce escapes the chaos, hesitantly abandoning his tea in the middle of the battlefield, Natasha follows suit. Speaking of mannerisms, hers are slightly off from her usual too. Her shoulders are tighter, her posture more rigid. Even though she’d put on the perfect façade of being relaxed in the chair every muscle had been tensed and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

When she sneaks off to her own floor and into bed, handcuffing herself to the headboard out of habit (that’s how it was in the Red Room, every night the guards came by and cuffed them. It was meant to keep them from running, but now she used it to ground herself. So she wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone. Because she couldn’t sleep without it), it’s nobody’s business but her own if she does her own personal penance for the lives she’s taken.

When she wakes up in the morning and goes back to the common floor there’s a piece of paper taped to the wall above the counter and a jar full of money sitting beneath it. The paper reads:

Science Project Gone Wrong: Clint

Ex X-man: Tony, Steve

Crazy Guy in Bondage Fetish Gear: Bruce

Alien: Pepper

Natasha smiles at the paper and grabs the sharpie that’s been discarded a few feet away by the coffeemaker, carefully scrawling in her own name alongside Pepper’s.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Steve likes to pretend he’s back home, back in his own time. Sometimes he’ll take out the bottle of La Tabac Blond perfume he’d bought shortly after waking up and mist a soft, cashmere sweater with it so he can imagine Peggy’s filling out requisition forms and humming softly in her office while he sketches her absently from the nearby armchair. Sometimes he’ll leave a cheap cigarette burning in an ashtray so that for even just a moment he can imagine Bucky is in the other room getting ready for a date. But Peggy’s not there; she’s an old woman who lived a full life and is now living out the rest of her days in a nursing home. At least he can comfort himself with the fact that Peggy got to live, got to move on. When those thoughts grace him he has to force away the dark ones trailing close behind that whisper Bucky didn’t even get that. He tries not to think of Bucky’s body frozen somewhere at the bottom of a ravine, broken and twisted from the thousand-foot fall. If he’d just sent Bucky home after Azzano. If he hadn’t asked him to follow Captain-fucking-America.

On one of those nights, Steve finds himself walking down the cold, unforgiving streets of the city. The new shiny buildings feel wrong and out of place (or, more accurately, make him feel wrong and out of place), so he turns down side streets and alleys toward the old, crumbly brick buildings. Away from the chrome and glass giants that dominate the skyline, Steve eventually finds himself outside an old, stone church. Even in the flickering orange light cast by the street lamps he can make out the beautiful architecture and stained glass windows. He feels another sharp pang of loss in his heart from just how much the building reminds him of the church he’d attended as a child and young man. That church had been demolished to make way for a gentrified apartment building a couple decades before Steve had been brought back. Steve can’t stop his feet from carrying him up the concrete steps and into the building.

Warm light from a few artfully sculpted fixtures that hang from the ceiling above the center aisle and a number of candles bathe the chapel in a soft glow. The rich crimson of the carpets and deep mahogany of the pews remind him of his old church even more. People told him the carpets were a dark red at least. He’d never had the chance to go back after he’d been rid of his color-blindness and other ailments. Despite the fact that there are still obvious differences, this church feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time. On nights that are especially hard, (Bucky and Peggy’s birthdays. The anniversary of Bucky’s death. The anniversary of his mother’s. After hard missions where his calls cost a debt of lives he can never pay back) he goes to the church and tries to reconcile with the God he’d cursed and screamed at once upon a time for making him live when he didn’t want to and letting good men die too young.

Not every time, but often enough for him to notice, another young man will be sitting in the pews and praying, a rosary wrapped around his fingers and dark sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. Steve always wonders about the sunglasses until this time when he sees the red and white cane leaning against the pew beside the man. He’s blind. Steve sits a row back from the man and a bit to his left and begins praying the rosary quietly, over and over. Steve isn’t sure how long he’s been at it, but it must’ve been a while judging by the way his throat is starting to feel scratchy and sore when a soft, calming voice reaches his ears.

“I think you’ve done your penance,” the blind man says gently from where he’s now standing in the aisle adjacent to Steve, the cane in front of him and both his hands wrapped around it.

Steve has to bite back a bitter laugh at that. “All due respect, I don’t think I’ll ever be done with my penance.”

A knowing look flashes across the man’s face. “I know how that feels, but Father Lantom needs to lock up soon. The diner across the street is still open though; let me buy you a coffee.”

Any other night Steve would’ve refused, but this last mission has left him feeling raw. If he’d just gotten more people out of that building. If he’d just been faster.

“Okay.”

They end up at the cheap diner across the street and Steve learns the man’s name is Matt and that he’s a lawyer. It’s more than a little refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t recognize him and just treats him like another person as opposed to the larger-than-life figure of Captain America. Steve is quiet, but Matt fills the silence with carefully recalled stories and bits of small talk. Steve wonders if Matt can tell how grateful he is to have someone to talk to on a night like this.

“Do you… do you ever wonder if maybe God isn’t listening anymore?” Steve asks softly after Matt goes quiet, seemingly knowing that he’s finally ready to talk.

“All the time,” Matt answers honestly, the same recognition from earlier on his face only now it’s accompanied by a certain bone-deep sadness that Steve has seen in the mirror too many times.

“How do you deal with it?” He's holding the chipped ceramic mug so tightly that if he were his usual composed self he'd be worried it might shatter.

Matt shifts slightly and bites his lip thoughtfully before answering. “I try my hardest to help other people because I find comfort in knowing that if God truly has abandoned us, at least… at least there’s still someone left to look after his flock.”

“And what about when you can’t help someone?” Steve asks quietly, trying to get rid of the image in his mind of a woman crushed beneath the building he hadn’t gotten her out of.

“I learn from my failures and make sure that I won’t let down the next person who needs me.” There’s something darker on Matt’s face when he says that, but it disappears almost as quickly as it appeared. He tilts his head for a moment as if some sound has caught his attention before standing abruptly. “I have to go now, but I hope I’ll see you at mass on Sunday,” Matt adds softly, pulling out a business card from his wallet and sliding it across the table to Steve. “If you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to call me. My personal number’s on the back.”

“I won’t—hesitate, that is,” Steve replies as he takes the card and reads it. Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that the Avengers act like rabid toddlers somedays, they’re still comprised of the best and the brightest that SHIELD, with all its limitless resources, managed to scrounge up. That being said, it also takes them a stupidly long time to notice that every Sunday when they aren’t on a mission Steve ends up being gone for a lot longer than any sort of church service would last.

Tony is a self-proclaimed “Godless Heathen”, Bruce doesn’t subscribe to any particular religion (especially not any Western one), Clint admittedly isn’t very invested in Christianity outside of holidays, Natasha learned about all religions as if they were children’s stories so she falls under the “Godless Heathen” category, and Thor is a god, so organized religion on Earth doesn’t do much for him. All of that along with them having their own business to attend to and the general misconception that Mass is an ultra drawn-out event gives them a fairly reasonable excuse for not noticing that Steve is usually missing for around three hours longer than he should be.

One Sunday after a particularly brutal mission which left Natasha with a broken ankle and Clint with a broken collarbone, all the Avengers sans Thor and Steve are lounging around in the common area throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths because that’s what highly trained spies, assassins, and scientists do with their free time. They’ve been meaning to sit Steve down and force him to endure what can only be described as the magical experience that is Sharknado, so they decide to wait for him to get back from church. And they wait. And they wait.

When Steve finally shows up around three o’clock it looks like a scene out of a dumb teen movie where the parents caught the kid sneaking back in because fuck authority or whatever. Steve doesn’t even have time to say hello before Tony is launching into the speech he’d been rehearsing for a solid half hour. He has always had a penchant for the dramatic.

“Gone! No note, no phone call, no message left with Jarvis—for all we knew you could’ve been kidnapped or hit by a car or God knows what! You didn’t answer your phone when I called! You didn’t reply to my texts! I thought you were dead! You’re so grounded!” Tony shouts while gesticulating wildly.

Natasha turns her unimpressed glare from Steve to Tony and raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you came up with to say? After all that planning? How many PhD’s do you have again?” she asks.

Tony flips her off and then immediately realizes his mistake and sits down.

Steve is staring at all of them with a mixture of his Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you face and his much less publically seen are-you-really-that-fucking-dumb face. “I was at church, Tony.”

“For five and a half hours?” Clint butts in skeptically.

“I went to Mass, then I went to confession, then I went out to lunch with a friend,” Steve explains slowly as if he’s speaking to a group of particularly slow children or maybe certain government officials. That voice has come up in meetings before.  

It’s Tony’s voice that pipes up next, and Steve can already feel the urge to roll his eyes. “You have a friend?”

Steve scrunches up his face and pinches the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Tony. I have a friend.”

“A non-super hero, normal person friend? And you didn’t introduce us to them? Steven how could you?!”

“Maybe it’s because you act like this, Tony,” Bruce replies, his face showing the same complex yet obviously disappointed emotion that Steve has plastered across his own face.

Tony sputters indignantly at that and Clint hits him in the forehead with a piece of popcorn.

“Yeah, Anthony.”

“Shove it, Clinton.”

“You’re really only proving Bruce’s point,” Natasha says with a sigh.

“My maturity doesn’t matter—what matters is the fact that Steve has a real-life honest to God actual normal person non-super hero friend who does shit like having a weekly schedule and going to church,” Tony replies, waving his hands around manically. “None of us have super-secret hidden normal people friends!”

Steve sighs again and somehow manages to slap on a look that even more closely resembles the disappointed father face that Tony used to get from Howard—and honestly thinking about it maybe Howard had appropriated that look from Steve’s extensive catalog of high-quality facial expressions. Maybe that’s why he’d hated Steve even more than he’d expected to when they met.

“He’s a normal person, Tony. He thinks that I’m a normal person. It’s less about hiding him from you and more about hiding him from all the superhero shit—and Tony if you say ‘language’ I swear to God I’ll never tell you anything else about him,” Steve explains sternly, and suddenly Tony’s the one being scolded like the teenager who snuck out.

Tony snaps his jaw shut and pretends he hadn’t been just about to call Steve on his use of a swear word then reopens it when he processes Steve’s words and has another question raised for him.

“Wait, how does he not know about the superhero shit? Captain America isn’t exactly a secret identity, Steve. You aren’t Daredevil—people know what you look like.”

“He’s blind, Tony. He doesn’t know what I look like or what Captain America looks like and he hasn’t recognized my voice or anything yet.” Steve pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before schooling his features into something that expresses apologetic neutrality. “I’m genuinely sorry that you feel as though I’ve left you guys out from some aspect of my life. If you really want to meet him then I’ll sort something out. As long as you all promise you’ll be on your best behavior.”

Tony and Clint reply with the same sarcastic, “Yes, dad.” While Natasha and Bruce continue their mature façade (as if they hadn’t been in the popcorn throwing contest earlier) and just give soft affirmatives.

Chapter Text

Contrary to Steve’s beliefs, Matt had instantly recognized his voice and knows exactly who he is. However, if Steve Rogers prefers to just be Steve from church and not Captain America, defender of the American people and all that they stand for, then he’ll let him live under that assumption. Matt figures it would be pretty hypocritical of himself to make Steve disclose his alter ego when he’s pretending to just be blind, bleeding heart lawyer Matt Murdock.

When he’s on the sidewalk about a block away from the office he pauses. Usually the ambiance of Nelson and Murdock at ten AM consist of the scent of Karen’s burnt coffee and her light, floral perfume. Foggy’s aftershave and the sound of him humming some song if Matt is already there, or the sounds of him chewing on his nails, a nervous habit that he’d kicked in college and hadn’t reappeared until he learned of Matt’s nighttime activities, while he waits for Matt to show up late so he can see the damage that’s been done to his friend. Matt winces in sympathy for Foggy’s blood pressure as he catalogs his current injuries. Cracked rib, minor stab wound, black eye, severe bruising on his chest. At least the only thing not hidden by his clothes is the black eye and it’s pretty well concealed by his glasses. Today, however, he can hear four heartbeats in addition to Foggy and Karen’s. As he focuses more closely he recognizes the voice of Tony Stark from the sheer number of times he’s heard the man on TV or the radio. It’s loud and demands attention, somewhere between the way a voice of authority commands assiduity and the way a petulant, bratty child does. There’s strange, electric humming emanating from the area near his heart.  There’s another voice that sounds familiar but that he can’t quite place—a woman. He can smell an expensive perfume coming from her—Pepper Potts? No, beneath the Chanel N°5 there’s a lingering, faint scent of blood and gunpowder. The Black Widow. If that’s the case, then the other two men must be Hawkeye and Bruce Banner because Thor’s still in Asgard according to official reports and neither of those heartbeats belong to Steve.

Matt feels his blood pressure rise. If he were Daredevil at the moment, then he’d be able to get up in all of their faces and snarl at them for all the damage they caused during The Incident and call Stark out for throwing money at the problem that led to Fisk’s rise to power. Unfortunately for Matt, he isn’t Daredevil at the moment and that means he has to act like he has no idea that the four people currently crowding the waiting area of the office are in fact the Avengers minus their resident giant blonds. That doesn’t stop him from tapping his cane against the concrete with a bit more force than necessary as he resumes his commute to the office.

Their voices and heartbeats become more easily detectable as he enters the building, and he barely stops himself from tripping up the stairs when the woman’s voice, scent, heartbeat, and now breathing patterns come together to form the same image as the woman from the alley a few months ago. Oh God, he’d thrown his billy club and snarked at the world’s most infamous assassin.

“Karen, are there a lot of people here?” Matt asks softly, plastering on his best I’m just a confused blind man look as he opens the door to the office, the faint fluttering sound of the paper with Nelson and Murdock written in sharpie on it standing out significantly as the voices inside go quiet.

“Uh, yeah—yeah there are,” she answers, her heartbeat much quicker than usual. She’s nervous judging off her pulse and the pitch of her voice.

Matt just puts on the polite smile he uses with all potential clients and holds his cane in front of him with both hands wrapped around it. “I’m so sorry that I’m late,” he apologizes. “Did you have an appointment?”

Two of the heartbeats speed up, Stark and Banner he’s pretty sure.

“Nope, no appointment. Just wanted to drop by and scope out Cap’s new friend,” Stark says brightly. Matt assumes that he’s smiling from the way the scent of fluoride stays stronger for a few moments after he’s done talking.

By this point Foggy has left his office and is standing next to Karen at her desk and his heart is racing. He’s definitely nervous-sweating judging by the scents of the chemicals now tainting the air slightly—and based off the way he’s saying fuck repeatedly beneath his breath so quietly that Matt’s the only one who can pick it up. He’s confused by Foggy’s apparent panic for a second before he realizes that Foggy must think that the Avengers are here for Daredevil and not Matt Murdock.

Matt continues to smile at the invading superheroes politely but cocks his head slightly to the side in confusion. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about,” he replies.

Stark holds his hand up a few inches above his own head. “About yea tall, blond hair, bleeds truth, justice, and the American way?”

The man he’s assuming is Hawkeye elbows Stark in the side and hisses, “Dude, he’s blind.”

Matt continues to look confused but still smiles amicably as he shakes his head. “I’m still not sure who you’re talking about, sorry.”

The woman, Black Widow he reminds himself, sighs and judging from the sound of her hair brushing against the shoulders of what smells like a leather jacket he can tell she’s shaking her head (probably in disappointment at her idiot teammates). “Steve Rogers.”

Matt finally allows himself to look like he has at least half a clue about what’s going on. “Oh, Steve from church. Yeah, I know him,” he says cheerfully. “I’m sorry, but he hasn’t really talked about many of his friends, and even if he did it isn’t like I’d recognize you,” Matt adds, gesturing to his eyes and continuing to smile.

The breathing patterns of three of the Avengers falter slightly, seemingly feeling a bit uncomfortable because of the gesture. They must not deal with many disabled people on a regular basis. Matt considers this for a moment before his attention is drawn to the almost completely inaudible buzzing in the now relative silence coming from Hawkeye—hearing aids? Huh. That sure wasn’t in any of the news reports he’d overheard.

Stark clears his throat awkwardly. “Oh yeah—sorry I’m not really used to having to introduce myself. Tony Stark,” he says, offering a hand for Matt to shake.

Matt ignores the hand as he’s still pretending to be a normal blind person, but still acts surprised because even someone who lives under a rock like he does knows who Tony Stark is. Clint mutters and oh my God beneath his breath and elbows Tony again, who awkwardly retracts his hand. He seems embarrassed. Good. If Matt can’t chew Stark out directly then the least he deserves is to feel uncomfortable and awkward.

“I’m Bruce Banner.” Matt was fairly impressed with himself that the assumption he’d made was correct. He’d only heard the man’s voice a few times in various scientific podcasts.

“Clint Barton,” Hawkeye says cheerfully. “Sorry about Tony. He’s an idiot.”

“You’re both idiots,” the woman says, exasperation clear in her voice. Stark and Barton must antagonize each other pretty frequently to get that reaction. “Natasha Romanov.”

Because Matt is a petty asshole and in particular dislikes Stark for the albeit accidental part he played in Fisk’s rise to power, he brightens up the most at Banner’s introduction.

“It’s nice to meet you—Dr. Banner especially. I’m a huge fan of your work,” Matt replies eagerly, definitely feeling satisfied with the way Stark’s heart races in response and at how Barton chokes back a laugh if only because Natasha steps on his foot as a warning. “I’m Matt Murdock, but I assume that Steve already told you that.”

“More like Tony couldn’t stand Steve having a friend he didn’t know so he took Steve’s phone and looked through every number in it until he found one he didn’t recognize,” Clint says, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Stark.

Matt raises his eyebrows slightly at that. “Yeah, that makes a fair amount of sense,” he says, earning the attention of the Avengers again. “I can’t imagine Steve would send anyone to my office unannounced. He’s a lot more considerate than that.” Matt puts on what Foggy calls his customer service smile, and he can tell that the Avengers must be uncomfortable from the way they’re shifting, except Natasha. She seems unfazed.

He can hear Karen say Jesus Christ, Matt under her breath along with what must be smothered laughter from her. Foggy seems like he’s trying not to laugh as well.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that… We should get going,” Bruce says uncomfortably, nudging Tony a little bit so that he can herd the Avengers towards the door and out of the office.

Matt gives another forcibly polite smile to the group. “I hope to see you sometime when I’m not busy at work,” he replies.

There’s a chorus of goodbyes from the four Avengers as they get shooed out of the office by Bruce who Matt is assuming came along as their chaperone. He lets them get most of the way out before speaking again.

“Oh, Mr. Stark,” Matt calls just before the door can close, causing all four to turn back to him. “From what I’ve heard your building isn’t ADA compliant. I recommend you correct that before Stark Industries finds itself with another lawsuit on its hands. Have a great day.” Matt closes the door the rest of the way before any of them can reply and heads towards his office.

“Matt—oh my God those were the Avengers you can’t talk to them like that!” Karen gasps, but she’s clearly only holding back the laughter until their guests get out of hearing range.

Foggy points at Matt menacingly, seemingly having focused on a different part of the conversation. “Steve from church?!? You go to church with Captain-fucking-America and you never thought to mention that?!”

“Well, it’s not like I could recognize him Fogs,” Matt replies for Karen’s sake. Foggy knows damn well that he had to have recognized a 6’2 national icon even with his world-on-fire. “I need to get to work on that tenement case,” he says before heading into his office and closing the door to leave Foggy and Karen to their tears of laughter and gossiping.

It takes Matt a moment to focus in on the sound of the Avengers’ voices, but it’s definitely worth it to listen in.

“Oh my fucking God, Tony!” Clint says, cackling like a madman.

“Shut up Barton. What did mean my building isn’t compliant?! My building is the pinnacle of architecture!”

“There’s no braille in the elevators, Tony,” Bruce explains. “Or on any of the signs.”

“You can shut up too, Bruce.”

“You’re just bitter that he recognized Bruce more than you,” Natasha says, earning some indignant sputtering from Stark.

Chapter Text

Join SHIELD, Coulson said. Punch to the cheek. Travel to exotic places, he said. Kick to the shin. Clint had at least hoped being an internationally known superhero would give him the privilege of being beaten up in said exotic places, but instead, here he is in an alley in the shittiest neighborhood in Manhattan (part of him wonders if just eradicating alleys altogether would drop New York’s crime rate significantly). And, okay, it isn’t anything he can’t handle; it’s just a few sketchy guys that have been running guns out of Moscow and into the city. Maybe he should start taking Natasha up on her offers to spar because by the third dickweed Clint has at least one black eye forming and his ribs are killing him. He turns his head to spit blood on the pavement (dammit his last split lip had just finished healing) and raises his fists back up to face off against the last asshole.

“Wanna make this easy on me and just… lie down and wait for the cops to get here or something?” Clint asks but he’s not too hopeful that the strategy will work.

The asshole says something particularly nasty in Russian. At least Clint’s assuming it was nasty; his hearing aids are lying somewhere in the alley thanks to the hits he took on either side of his head, so it’s a bit hard to make out the exact words the guy says.

“Alright man. Your mistake,” Clint replies with a shrug before getting ready to take the guy down.

Before Clint can even throw a punch the gangster’s eyes widen to the point of being comically large and he puts his hands up. Clint isn’t the best with reading lips in Russian, but he’s pretty sure the guy is saying something about God and… sinners maybe? Before he can contemplate it for too long a metal stick of some sort comes flying through the air from behind him and hits the guy right in between his eyes.

Clint spins around immediately and there, in all his shadowy, symbolic glory, is Daredevil. The guy’s standing on a fire escape looking down on Clint appraisingly for a moment before he says something. Well, Clint can see his lips move but it’s too shadowy to make out any exact words before the guy does an impressive series of flips and lands in the alley a few yards away from him. There’s enough ambient light now that he can sort of make out what Daredevil is saying, and the words are enough the send a chill through his whole body.

“Clint Barton,” Daredevil says, “what are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

And, okay. He’s an Avenger, but he’s also a spy. His identity was never made public, same for Nat, so how the fuck does the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen know who he is? He’s not even in the Hawkeye costume, just his regular spy clothes, so it can’t be that the guy recognized that. And surely it’s too dark for him to make out Clint’s face and match it to the few blurry shots from news footage and camera phones that had been taken of him during the Incident.

“Umm,” Clint says eloquently.

God, he hates talking when he can’t hear. He has to be extra careful about his enunciation, and he can never tell if he’s talking at an appropriate volume.

Daredevil tilts his head in that signature, creepy way for just a moment before taking a few steps down the alley and grabbing something out from under a dumpster. He tosses whatever it is at Clint who catches it on reflex and hey! His hearing aids! Clint puts them back on and adjusts them carefully for a moment.

Daredevil seems to know the exact moment Clint can hear again because he resumes his questioning.

“Why are you in my city?” Daredevil asks again in a Christian Bale-style Batman voice.

Wow, that definitely wasn’t the voice Clint was expecting from the guy.

“Well, funny story actually,” Clint starts, noting the way Daredevil tenses slightly and gets a bit of an irritated look on his face. “I was just walking through and—“

“You’re lying,” Daredevil interrupts.

“Okay fine. I wasn’t walking through. I was doing my job—I get paid for my caped crusading unlike you. Unless there’s like, an actual business of you guys. Vigilantes are starting to pop up like weeds. Do you guys have a union?” Clint asks, hoping he can derail the guy’s questioning with some well-placed ramblings.

“Your job,” Daredevil repeats. “What is it?”

Damn, the rambling usually worked better than that, bought him at least a minute or two most of the time.

“I’m Hawkeye, dude. I’m an Avenger—an under-appreciated one but one nonetheless. I’m Avenging.”

“Not right now you aren’t. Stop lying. You’re wasting both our time,” Daredevil growls.

Okay, that was a good and perfectly believable lie. The guy knows he’s Hawkeye—didn’t call that part out as a lie. Just called him out that he wasn’t on the Avengers’ payroll for this particular job.

“I wasn’t lying about doing my job,” Clint points out helpfully.

Daredevil huffs in what’s either an aborted laugh or irritation—he can’t quite tell—before crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Clint. The glare is assumed. He can’t see the guy’s eyes so he can’t tell.

“No, you weren’t,” he concedes. “But you still haven’t told me what your job is.”

“That’s classified,” Clint replies, adding finger guns for good measure. He thinks that Daredevil raises an eyebrow at that. Again, can’t tell for sure because of the mask.

“A government job,” Daredevil decides.

“I could be a gangster,” Clint argues helpfully.

Daredevil definitely smiles that time.

“Could be. But you aren’t.”

“You got me,” Clint says with a sigh, holding his arms open wide. “I’m doing my job sanctioned by the American government in America to protect America. Knock me out and call the cops to tell them where you left me.”

The smile doesn’t disappear from the Devil’s face, but it does shift to something slightly more unnerving.

“I don’t like killers, Clint. Government sanctioned or not; it isn’t up to man to decide if someone else deserves to live or die. In fact, there’s something worse about your sins being justified by a faceless organization. The blood on your hands might be legal, but it’s certainly not just.”

Clint swallows down the lump of anxiety forming in his throat, but before he can say anything Daredevil pipes up again.

“There are other people in Hell’s Kitchen tonight who are more deserving of punishment than you, but that might not be the case the next time you’re here. Stay out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

And with that Daredevil is running past Clint to grab the baton he’d thrown at Clint’s mobster and holy shit the guy basically runs straight up the wall to grab onto a fire escape and pull himself up before he’s disappearing over the edge of the roof.

Well, at least he'll have something to contribute at the next movie night.

Chapter Text

To be completely fair to Clint, he doesn’t run into the Tower yelling that he met Daredevil, doesn’t slip up and mention it at random. Instead, he manages to keep his meeting with their favorite vigilante a secret until the opportune moment if only because Natasha is out of the country and unable to trick him into saying it or just figure it out on her own with her freaky spy powers* (*read: look at the official mission report). Jarvis managed to get some better than usual footage (considering the fact that "usual" is so grainy that Daredevil is three dark pixels, it’s really not that impressive), so the Avengers have something queued up to watch after they finally force Steve to enjoy Sharknado in all its truly awful glory. Oh, Sci-fi network, you’re a gift to the world.

The credits to Sharknado roll and everyone looks over at Steve to try and judge his reaction. Steve stares at the TV a minute longer before blinking slowly.

“That was… that was absolutely terrible,” he says, sounding a little bit shocked. “What the hell was that?”

“The future,” Tony answers, getting up from his favorite armchair. “Alright, I’m grabbing drinks. Yell your orders at me.”

The orders end up being a beer for Steve, some weird hippy tea for Bruce, and tequila for Clint because the guy’s a walking disaster. Tony’s not one to talk though considering the improbability that his liver hasn’t started failing. One time Tony had brought Dum-E up to the common floor to be their bartender, but that went about as well as one would assume. Meaning he crashed into the gorgeous, custom glass liquor shelf behind the wet bar and shattered nearly thirty thousand dollars worth of booze. Why did the Avengers have thirty grand of booze you may ask? Because they have major issues and no desire to see therapists.

Tony collects all the drinks eventually and distributes them to his teammates before sitting back down with his own whiskey.

“Alright J, roll the tapes,” Tony says.

“That phrasing is a bit outdated, don’t you think, Sir?” Jarvis asks but starts playing the footage anyway. The AI gets sassier every day, and Tony can’t blame anyone but himself for that.

The footage was captured by a CCTV camera outside a yoga studio (Hell’s Kitchen isn’t immune to gentrification it appears) that was pretty recently installed judging from the camera quality. The camera is set up to record the side door of the building located in an alley, big surprise there, and at approximately 3:27 AM Daredevil comes running into the frame—well, running being used loosely. He more accurately drops into frame from God knows where—probably a fire escape or a window or maybe even the damn roof. Rather than Daredevil’s usual schtick of dropping down on a mugger or would-be rapist, he appears to be alone in the alley. The guy is already in position to fight though, and soon enough three black-clad figures drop down—presumably from the same place Daredevil came from just a few seconds prior. There is a synchronized flash of something light and reflective from each of the shrouded figures as they unsheathe what appear to be katanas.

“Are those… I’m sorry—are those ninjas?” Bruce asks incredulously, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen.

Tony shushes him and waves his hand dismissively in an attempt to communicate Yes, those are definitely ninjas, but let’s see what happens before we talk about it. Bruce is so used to Tony’s unspoken forms of communication that he understands the gesture entirely.

It looks like shit is about to go downhill real fast because Daredevil isn’t even facing any of the ninjas. He’s got his chin tucked close to his shoulder and his head cocked slightly to the side. His fists are raised as well, but his body is facing the wall and he’s got ninjas on every other side, including behind him. The second one of them lunges for him though, Daredevil springs into action. He actually happens to be at the exact perfect angle to deflect one ninja right into another so that ninja number one gets a katana through his shoulder. While the two ninjas are tangled up, Daredevil hits the other one on the head with his club a good few times before aiming a kick back at the ninja who managed to retrieve his sword from his compatriot’s leg and making the guy’s knee bend in a way that knees were never made to bend. He manages to club the main ninja he’s been grappling with into unconsciousness before delivering a swift kick to the head to broken-knee-ninja. Stabbed-ninja is already unconscious, probably from the blood loss. Daredevil straightens up abruptly and tilts his head for just a moment before vaulting on top of the dumpster and then climbing up the brick wall and out of frame of the camera. Jarvis stops the video, and the Avengers sit in stunned silence for just a minute.

“I’m sorry but—ninjas? Actual real-life honest to God ninjas in Manhattan and we aren’t the ones dealing with them?!” Tony asks, his voice a little pitchy-er than usual as he gestures to the screen emphatically.

“I’m more impressed by how he dealt with them,” Bruce replies honestly, sipping on his tea. “That guy’s scary as hell.”

Clint sees his opportunity like a glowing beacon—the only thing that could possibly have made it better would be if Natasha and Thor were present to witness it. He shrugs nonchalantly and takes a sip of his tequila. “I dunno,” he drawls. “He’s actually kinda short in person.” Perfect line delivery—he actually manages to stay sounding casual through the whole line.

“Wait—what?” Tony asks, and now all eyes are on Clint.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that before?” Clint asks, maintaining the façade surprisingly well. “On my last SHIELD op, I was in Hell’s Kitchen and ran into him. He’s really got that whole dark and broody thing going on.”

“Okay don’t lie, Clint. You’ve been dying to tell us that, haven’t you?” Steve asks with a smile, though it’s pretty obvious his curiosity has been piqued.

Clint rolls his eyes but gives an affirmative shrug just a second later. “Okay, yeah. But I wanted to at least have the illusion of being cool, Steve. You certainly can’t begrudge me that with all your damn dramatic entrances.”

Bruce snorts into his tea at the slightly indignant noise Steve makes in response to being called dramatic, and honestly, the whole reaction is dramatic as well, but Steve throws a pillow at Tony dramatically when he points this out.

“Okay, okay, you saw Daredevil. Big whoop,” Tony says once Steve is done being dramatic and is definitely not pouting about being called out on his theatrics and they’re back on topic.

“You don’t understand though—he knew my name,” Clint replies. “He said, and I quote, ‘Clint Barton, what are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?'.”

“Seriously? Dude, is he psychic or something?” Tony asks.

“Might just be an ex-SHIELD agent. Maybe he knows you,” Bruce suggests, ever the logical one.

“That makes sense,” Steve agrees. “He obviously has professional training.”

“No, no I don’t think so. Because after he called me out by name he gave a speech on how even though my job is government sanctioned, everyone I’ve killed still leaves blood on my hands. Says I’m not the person in Hell’s Kitchen most deserving of his punishment tonight, but I better watch out the next time I’m there.”

“So he’s psychic—is that one in the betting pool?” Tony asks curiously.

Jarvis is the one to answer as he keeps track of all the ongoing bets amongst the Avengers.

“Not specifically, but I do believe that psychic would fall under the category of Ex X-man which both you and Captain Rogers have placed bets on.”

“Nice,” Tony says, high-fiving the air since Jarvis doesn’t have a corporeal form for him to high-five.

“So, me and Nat have had run-ins with him. Anyone else we know seen the Devil?” Clint asks with a dramatic, spooky inflection in his voice on the word Devil.

“Maybe that, what’s his face?” Tony snaps his fingers a few times, brow furrowed in thought. “Matt! Maybe that Matt guy’s seen him. He lives in Hell’s Kitchen.”

This time it’s Clint’s turn to snort. “I don’t think Matt has seen much of anything.”

Bruce chuckles at that as well until he sees the judgmental look Steve is giving all of them.

“Oh no—it’s the Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you face,” Tony whispers.

“Tony,” Steve says in an overly polite tone, “this wouldn’t happen to be the same Matt who I know, would it? It’s just a coincidence that my friend Matt, whom I told you specifically not to harass, also lives in Hell’s Kitchen and also hasn’t seen much of anything because he’s blind, isn’t it?”

“Ooo, you’re in troouuble,” Clint crows at Tony before he’s at the receiving end of Steve’s patented disappointed face. That shuts him up pretty quick.

“We didn’t harass him,” Tony defends. “We just went to his office and said hi, and he threatened to file a lawsuit against me.”

“And who exactly is ‘we’ in this case?” Steve asks.

“All of us except for you,” Bruce confesses, earning himself a betrayed look from Clint. “I mostly went along to make sure that Tony and Clint wouldn’t bother him too much though.”

Steve gives a long, deep sigh and drags his hand down his face, another gesture incredibly similar to one of Howard Stark’s arsenal of disappointed cues.

“Sooo, has he seen Daredevil?” Tony asks.

“He hasn’t seen him,” Steve replies before sighing again and answering the question. “But they have met. Matt’s firm—Nelson and Murdock—is the one that helped Daredevil take down Fisk. Apparently Daredevil was most comfortable dealing with Matt because he didn’t really have to worry as much about the secret identity.”

Tony and Clint both look pretty giddy with the news that Steve’s friend has gotten up-close and personal with the vigilante more than once.

Steve catches onto their excitement and revs the disappointed face back up.

“That being said, if you try and bother him about that I will absolutely not bail you out when his secretary kicks your asses,” he cautions.

“The pretty blonde?” Clint asks curiously.

“Karen,” Steve corrects. “And she’s terrifying.”

“Ugh, fine mom. We promise not to harass your friend in his place of business about any alleged encounters with a certain super-powered vigilante.”

“Place of business or residence,” Steve amends.

“Jesus, fine. You’re no fun.”

Now it’s Tony and Clint’s turn to pout.

Chapter Text

Okay, look. Daredevil did a good thing taking out Fisk and the Russians and the Chinese, and the Punisher did a fantastic, albeit horrifying and bloody, job of taking out the Irish, the Cartel, and the Dogs of Hell (a biker gang? In Manhattan? Really guys?). Good on both of them for taking care of Hell’s Kitchen and turning the arguably most corrupt area of the city (Wall Street is a close second, followed by Trump Tower) into an almost organized crime-free oasis. Despite the fact that all the bad guys are gone, there’s still the perfect framework for every bit of the black market from human trafficking to heroin and a power vacuum bigger than outer space to fill. There’s also a recently displaced international terrorist organization with a propensity towards violating the Geneva Conventions and just general horrific behavior. You don’t have to be a genius to put two and two together. Cut off one head and two more will take its place. Honestly, it’s surprising they’re staying pretty true to the actual Hydra mythology despite the fact that their logo is a skull with tentacles. That alone has plenty of people convinced that neither Zola nor Redskull actually knew what a Hydra was. On second thought, why does a secret underground terrorist organization even need a logo?

Regardless, Hydra is back and building up to be worse than ever. Well, that’s not quite true, they don’t have access to satellites and helicarriers that could wipe out millions of people in a matter of minutes anymore. They’re definitely back though, and that’s a problem for the Avengers which is why they’re all camped out in an abandoned warehouse by the docks in Hell’s Kitchen. They’re so focused on Hydra that it doesn’t cross any of their minds that, “Hey, isn’t this place like the wild west of vigilantes?”. Nope, they just walk straight in like they own the place, and like there isn’t an overprotective, red leather clad, seemingly omnipotent guardian that knows everything that goes down in Hell’s Kitchen.

Tony’s busying himself with running some sort of scan on the target building from where they’re currently camped out, Natasha and Clint are cleaning their weapons in between signing rapidly at each other, and Steve is talking to Sam who has an auxiliary spot on the team as long as Thor is off-world thanks to his help with the Hydra/SHIELD fiasco. Bruce is at a science conference in Rotterdam and they decided that bringing the Hulk out in the city probably isn’t necessary this time, and it certainly wouldn’t help the already highly debated public image of the Avengers.

“Why are there so many damn abandoned warehouses in Hell’s Kitchen?” asks Tony as he continues his scan of the buildings nearby, checking to make sure they haven’t missed anything.

“Because up until very recently they were owned and used by various crime syndicates,” a deep voice answers from the nearly pitch-black catwalks above them.

“Shit!” Tony exclaims (definitely does not yelp, nope. He’s a grown-ass super person), dropping the device he’d been using and watching it clatter to the floor.

Natasha and Clint both instantly aim their weapons upward, searching for the source of the voice while Steve adjusts the shield on his arm slightly and Sam moves his hand a bit closer towards his sidearm. Tony, on the other hand, is trying to stop himself from having a heart attack while he aims his gauntlet vaguely upward (it would be a lot easier if he had the full suit on and could use the thermal vision). Maybe he picked the wrong line of work for someone with a heart condition, but it’s probably a bit too late to change that.

“What’re you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” the voice growls, and both Natasha and Clint actually relax slightly.

“Daredevil,” Natasha says calmly though she keeps her gun in hand. “I thought you’d gone back to helping the little people of New York.”

“And I thought you’d done enough damage to this city,” Daredevil, apparently, hisses back.

Because Tony’s got a chronic case of foot-in-mouth syndrome he can’t help but blurt out, “Oh my God, he has a Batman voice. Clint, why didn’t you mention the Batman voice?”

“Batman’s an entitled, rich child who thinks his money and fancy toys make him a hero,” Daredevil sneers in a voice that’s definitely a bit more intimidating than Batman’s, “so maybe you should consider which one of us shares those traits before you make comparisons, Mr. Stark. Now I’ll ask you again: What are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Tony can hear Clint whisper, “Savage,” from where he is, lowering his bow back to the ground fully once it’s become apparent Daredevil is only going to verbally spar with them.

“We’re doing our job,” Steve answers calmly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “We have reason to believe that there’s a terrorist cell in the area. We could use your assistance though if you’d be kind enough to come down from there.” It’s a surprisingly civil invitation considering the absolute warpath Steve has been on since the fall of SHIELD—he sounds like he’s talking to a scared dog in an alley, but hey, apparently that works with pissy vigilantes too.

Steve had explained it to Tony one night when they were both up late, Steve looking over the files Natasha leaked and Tony working on a project. Both of them using those excuses to hide nightmares.

“It’s just… I died for this, Tony. I died because I didn’t have enough left to live for and I was okay with being a martyr so long as I took Hydra down with me, but look at what happened. Hydra grew inside SHIELD and Bucky…” Steve choked up a little before shaking his head like he could just shake off the grief and guilt and anger that he felt. “Bucky didn’t even die. He was still there, and I abandoned him. So yeah, Tony, I’m done playing nice.”

Daredevil considers the offer in silence for a minute before doing a series of acrobatic tricks that wouldn’t be out of place on a trapeze and landing directly in front of Steve to give him a curt nod. He sticks to the shadows, but the silhouette of his costume is still easy enough to make out, horns and all. If he adds a cape to the fetish gear ensemble then it could definitely be the costume of a super villain rather than that of an actual hero. Are vigilantes even heroes? That seems like a ethics and morality questions that’s probably been debated by philosophers time and time again.

“Okay, great, well we’ve got—” Tony picks up the device he’d dropped at Daredevil’s surprise entrance and checks it, “Twenty-three people in the warehouse about a block away. The one that used to be used for fish I think.”

Daredevil scrunches his nose up in distaste and tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned warehouse slightly for a just a few seconds before shaking it. “No. There’s twenty-seven. Fifteen armed with guns, three have… something else. Not normal guns. The other nine are scientists I think, but there are a few more of those strange weapons with them as well as some guns so they could easily arm themselves as well.”

“There’s no way that you can tell that from here,” Clint blurts out, but they’re all thinking it.

Daredevil smiles at him. “You and I both know that you don’t really think that.”

Clint gulps and looks extremely uncomfortable at that. They really should add psychic to the betting pool specifically.

“I’ll work with you, Captain,” Daredevil continues, stepping out of the shadows and wow, that costume really is something. “So long as we can all agree not to kill anyone.”

Hearing the thou-shalt-not-kill philosophy straight from the mouth of the crazy vigilante who dresses up like bondage-Satan in his free time and beats criminals within an inch of their lives really is a hell of a lot more mind-boggling and ironic than just reading police reports about the guy’s nighttime activities.

“Dude, really? They’re terrorists. They’ve killed more people than the Punisher did,” Clint says, seemingly having gotten his tongue back from the cat that stole it. “Sure as hell seems like you tried to kill that guy.”

“It’s not my place to judge whether anyone lives. Their lives aren’t mine to take, and they certainly aren’t yours either,” Daredevil growls in response, his posture tensing up a little.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is actually surprisingly short just like Clint had told them, but the guy was obviously built. Even though he couldn’t be more than 5’10" he still gave off a very strong air of if-you-try me-I-won’t-hesitate-to-fuck-you-up.

“I mean, we do need to question them,” Sam points out benevolently from where he’s been otherwise silent at Steve’s side, further solidifying his role on the team as peacekeeper/actual adult with his shit together. He pretty clearly isn’t super comfortable with the rest of the team aside from Steve yet, so he does his best to be a good middle ground so long as it’s in keeping with his own moral philosophy. “It would make sense to keep them all alive.”

There’s a begrudging agreement to the Devil’s terms from the rest of the Avengers, including Steve, and Daredevil looks like he’s been placated for the time being.

“What’s your plan?” he asks, turning his head to Natasha rather than Steve or Tony who are the leaders of the team in the public eye.

“Hawkeye on the roof to catch any stragglers as they run off, Iron Man through the front entrance, Captain America and Falcon through the side entrances, me through the loading dock,” she answers calmly. The sense of wrongness is still there, but she forces herself to keep her cool as it’s much less pronounced than it had been during their last encounter.

Daredevil nods again, and it’s becoming more and more apparent by the second that the guy isn’t one for conversation.

“You said they have strange weapons,” Tony interjects, finally finding an opening to ask the question he’s been harboring. Holding onto a thought and not just blurting it out is unsurprisingly a bit of a challenge for him. “Got any better descriptors than just ‘strange’?”

Daredevil hesitates for a moment and tilts his head in the direction of the warehouse again before answering. “Long, sort of spear-like. They have a strange energy pulsing through them.”

“Shit. Like what the aliens had during the Incident?” Sam asks. He’s the only one of them that calls it the Incident. The rest of the Avengers have taken to calling it Loki’s Bitch-fit and other similar unflattering names on the very rare occasion that any of them mentions it.

There are a few long seconds of silence as Daredevil inclines his head a bit further. He looks like he’s concentrating on trying to recall something before he nods again. “That’s exactly what they are.”

“Why do Nazis always get the alien technology?” Steve asks with a long-suffering sigh as they return to their preparations for the mission.

“We should move in soon,” Daredevil announces after a few minutes of him observing the team of superheroes awkwardly, and maybe a bit intimidatingly, from the shadows he’s melted back into. “The guards are tired, won’t be paying as much attention as the guys will be after shift change at midnight. I’ll go through the loading bay with Romanov.”

Natasha tenses up slightly at the Devil mentioning her by name (she’s still not used to that, even after the SHIELD file-dump she perpetrated), and Clint signs “I told you so!” at her with a smug grin. One perfectly arched eyebrow is raised in response to him and Clint grimaces slightly.

“Alright Daredevil. You get me killed and I’ll haunt you though,” she says with her usual, calm demeanor, checking the clip in one of her sidearms a final time.

He smiles at her, and it’s definitely more charming without blood staining his teeth. “You can take care of yourself. If it comes down to life and death, you’ll do whatever you have to in order to get out alive. I know that might include throwing me to the wolves. I can handle the wolves though,” he says with a tone that puts his smile right back into the territory of unnerving.

Natasha nods and grabs something small from one of the many pockets of her suit, tossing it to Daredevil. “Here. Spare com, just put it in your ear. We’ll all turn around so you can take off the mask to do it.”

Daredevil looks highly unimpressed and tosses the communicator back to Natasha with his trademark expression that’s somewhere between disappointed parent and rebellious teenager with a severe mean streak. “I don’t need that to know what you all are saying.”

Everyone shifts a little bit uncomfortably at that, and psychic/mind reader is definitely going on the betting pool list when they get back to the Tower.

“Oookay. On that slightly unnerving note, let’s go teach those Nazi fucks a lesson,” Tony says.

Getting into place at the warehouse is pretty easy thanks to Jarvis hacking the security cameras that the Hydra cell had set up and looping the footage. Tony drops Clint off on the roof before heading to his place at the front entrance of the warehouse. Sam takes the left side and Steve takes the right while Daredevil and Natasha disappear into the shadows and ninja their way to the loading bay.

“Everyone in position?” Tony asks over the coms.

“Daredevil and Widow, in position,” Natasha answers, followed by the rest of the team.

“Falcon, in position”

“Cap, in position.”

“Hawkeye, in position.”

Natasha and Daredevil are the first to move in since their entry point is least likely to alert the entire cell to the presence of the Avengers and Co. The warehouse blueprints were accurate in the fact that the building consists of the main ground floor along with a walled-in loft-style office with a small staircase leading up to it. Natasha is busy choking out the lone guard with her thighs, so Daredevil signals to her that he’s headed upstairs. Even though she gives a firm shake of her head he proceeds.

Just a few moments after Daredevil disappears around the corner she hears a collective groan from the office.

“I thought we got the fucking electricity fixed!” someone complains loudly.

A few seconds pass by in silence before she can hear the recognizable sound of punches landing followed closely by gunshots. Those sounds lead to a rapid succession of shouts and cries of pain that are then quickly drowned out by more gunfire. She considers staying put downstairs and leaving him to do his job (Daredevil is a serious vigilante; if he can handle the Punisher then he can handle a few idiots with guns) until she makes out the very recognizable sound of one of the Chitauri weapons firing.

The other Avengers must hear the commotion as well because they all move in simultaneously, Tony blasting down the front door completely. With everyone else there to take care of the men on the warehouse floor, Natasha runs upstairs to help out Daredevil with whatever shit-storm he managed to start in the span of less than a full minute.

As soon as she throws open the door, the chaos becomes even louder, but there’s absolutely nothing she can do to help. The room is pitch black (so that’s what the original yelling was about), but there are the occasional flashes of light when a gun fires or where someone turns on a flashlight and then is immediately knocked out by Daredevil. These idiot agents are firing completely blind, so Natasha just slams the door shut again and backs up to the staircase landing so she can take out anyone who runs.

One man makes it out the door upstairs, but before Natasha has the chance to take him out he just falls down the stairs and knocks himself unconscious. His leg is very clearly broken—the bone piercing through the skin and the fabric of his pants. There are a few more seconds of noise, but it’s clearly been whittled down to one person firing a gun. The upstairs is completely silent after just a few more moments

By this point, the rest of the Avengers have secured the ten Hydra agents that were supposed to be guarding the facility and called in a clean-up team of not-technically-SHIELD-anymore agents to deal with them and the alien tech they’re about to obtain.

“Where’s Devil Boy?” Tony asks Natasha as he and Steve round the corner, followed by the team’s two bird themed superheroes.

“In there,” she replies, inclining her head towards the door before stepping over the unconscious, bloody Hydra agent and climbing the last flight of stairs.

It’s a poor design, but the light switch for the room is actually on the outside of the door, so she flicks that on before opening the door to reveal the room in absolute disarray. Desks and tables have been knocked over to form barriers to hide behind from the gunfire. There’s a total of seventeen people in various states of unconsciousness and injury on the floor. A few have bones sticking through their skin, a few look like they just took a few hits to the head, but a few also appear to be dead, pockmarked with lead from their teammates' guns. Daredevil is standing in the middle of the room, and at a glance, there’s nothing wrong with him other than a split lip and bruise forming on his cheek. When he takes a step toward them though it becomes a bit more obvious that he’s holding his shoulder strangely.

“Does your helmet have night-vision or did you do that all in the dark?” Natasha asks calmly as she and the other Avengers file into the room. She walks closer to him while the others stay nearer to the doorway

Daredevil ignores her question. “I hope that was all of the assistance you needed from me. I’ll be sticking around to make sure you get all of this and yourselves out of my neighborhood.”

He stalks off after that, picking up one of his batons from where it had come to rest on the ground next to an unconscious Hydra agent. He only stops his prowl toward the window when Sam speaks up.

“Your shoulder’s dislocated, right? I can fix that if you want,” he offers, hands held out in a gesture meant to convey his good intentions.

Daredevil seems to consider it for a second before relaxing the tense posture that had clearly been hurting him to hold. “Fine.”

He stalks back over to the group and Sam approaches him, hands still out. Approaching vigilantes like they’re stray dogs is really starting to seem like the way to go about things. While Steve rights one of the toppled desks for Daredevil to sit on like a rudimentary exam table, the rest of the group works its way closer to them.

Daredevil undoes a zipper on the side of his costume and pulls it down just far enough to get his arm and shoulder out at Sam’s request. That gets the team a pretty good look at Daredevil’s chest and aside from showing just how built the guy is, it also shows off an array of nasty looking scars.

Both Daredevil and Natasha give Tony disappointed glares in response to his cat-calling the vigilante.

“Alright, I’m gonna do this on three,” Sam says calmly, his hands on Daredevil’s tricep and the back of his shoulder. “One… two…” Sam yanks the guy’s shoulder back into place right after two, but Daredevil is already bracing for it like he knew what Sam was going to do. Psychic it is.

“Thanks,” Daredevil says as he shoves his arm back into the sleeve of his uniform and zips the side back up. Right as he’s heading back to the window, Tony remembers something he wants to ask the vigilante.

“Matthew Murdock,” Tony says, and Daredevil absolutely fucking freezes, his whole body going tense. “You know him, right?”

Daredevil looks conflicted but turns back to sort-of face Tony. He’s looking slightly to the side and has the weird head-tilt going on again. “I do.”

“You should keep a better eye on him. When I saw him a few weeks ago he looked pretty beat up. And not in a blind guy tripped and fell way. More of a caught a few fists to the face way.”

Daredevil huffs in what’s probably a laugh. “I’ll look out for him,” he says before vaulting out the damn window like a carnie.

“Did he just laugh about a blind guy looking like a domestic violence PSA?” Sam asks incredulously. “That guy really is the Devil.”

“Either that or he knows something we don’t,” Natasha replies.

Chapter Text

After the latest and incredibly freaky Daredevil experience, it’s time for an update to the betting pool. The general consensus is mutant, but there are still a few people who aren’t on board.

Team mutant consists of Steve, Natasha, Sam, Pepper, and Bruce, with the majority of them agreeing he’s probably psychic. Bruce on the other hand…

“Okay, okay, listen ,” Bruce says over the laughter of his teammates. “I know how stupid it sounds, but it would explain how he fought so well in the dark. I’m not saying he’s green and scaly—I’m saying he has reptilian abilities. Thermal vision, the ability to sense changes in air pressure, maybe even feel vibrations through the ground.”

The rest of the team considers it for a minute. Yeah, it does sound stupid, but Bruce’s explanation does give it a bit more credibility.

“I think he’s the Devil,” Clint announces, and Steve chokes on his drink. “I mean, look, he’s got that weird thing about how it isn’t up to people to decide whether someone else lives or dies. Psychic would explain the knowing when we’re lying thing, but omniscient would explain everything else. And he can pop up out of fucking nowhere.”

“You really think the Devil can get his shoulder dislocated?” Sam asks.

“Sure,” Clint replies. “Thor’s a religious figure, but he can still be injured. Maybe Daredevil’s the same.”

“Hey, J,” Tony says, “we’re gonna need to update the betting pool.”

What the fuck is he?

Psychic: Steve, Natasha, Sam, Pepper

Lizard Man: Bruce

Actually Satan: Clint, Tony

Chapter Text

"I think your bestest Catholic normal-person friend is maybe, possibly, making sweet, sweet gay love to a vigilante who may or may not actually be Satan,” is not a sentence Tony was ever prepared to utter in this life or any other, especially not to Captain fucking America, but here he is- saying just that.

Okay, freeze frame, record scratch, to Tony’s “I bet you’re all wondering how I got here” moment. The answer to that is the same as the answer to most of these moments: it all started at an Avengers holiday party. Usually it’s the Fourth of July or Passover ( seriously, don’t ask ) when these things happen, but this time it’s at the non-denominational winter holiday extravaganza.

Everything is set to be absolutely fantastic: Thor and his Earth people are coming, and Steve has finally, finally deigned it the right time to formally introduce Avengers and Co. to Matt Murdock and friends. A lot of begging on Tony and Clint’s parts, a subtle suggestion from Natasha, and an obvious request from Pepper was enough to goad Steve into agreeing to send the glitzy invitation (“ Printed in braille! See, I’m not a complete idiot! ” “ Yeah, just mostly. ”) to the offices of Nelson & Murdock (& Page, let’s be honest, from Steve’s stories they all know the firm would’ve been dead in the water without Karen).

According to Steve, Nelson and Page use a coordinated combination of bullying and guilt-tripping to persuade Murdock into accepting the invitation. Unfortunately for Steve, the general holiday bustle and Hydra fiasco keep him from remembering to forbid his fellow Avengers from harassing any of the three musketeers of Hell’s Kitchen for information about Daredevil. That alone is a goddamn Christmas miracle that almost moves Tony out of the “Godless Heathen” category.

Because the Avengers are all very busy people and they now associate with people who have actual families to spend the holidays with, this year’s non-denominational winter holiday extravaganza is scheduled for the Friday before Christmas. If Tony were prone to using outdated technology, then he’d be marking the days off on his calendar, counting down to the moment he and Clint could finally get some answers. Their attempt to recruit Natasha to their side of the ‘unmasking the Devil’ campaign goes as well as could be expected; meaning they both get a raised eyebrow and a disappointed head shake. It’s another Christmas miracle that Natasha allows them to go about their bullshit without alerting either Steve, Pepper, or Sam to it. Sam has pretty much taken over the responsible adult team role from Steve since his arrival. The guy also makes some mean baked macaroni and cheese, so that’s a deciding factor too since everything Steve cooks ends up tasting like boiled cabbage and the Great Depression.

Party night finally arrives, and it’s everything Tony could’ve hoped for. Thor ( fucking finally ) is there, along with Jane and Darcy. Rhodey has apparently managed to finish up whatever official government shit he’d been doing early enough that he could come, (Either that or he just said ‘fuck it’ and left his work unfinished. That’s highly doubtful though—he falls under the responsible adult category with Sam and Pepper). Sharon Carter, not-dead-Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and fucking apparently-not-dead-either-Coulson along with the gaggle of agents who just seem to follow him around like he’s their mother duck, are there to represent the remnants of SHIELD. And last but not least their guests of honor: Steve’s normal people friends who have decided that fashionably late is the way to go.

Everyone’s just sort of mingling with the majority of the focus being on either listening to Thor’s tales about what he’s been doing off-world, or on Coulson for the simple fact that he’s not fucking dead what the fuck , but Clint and Tony are both on alert waiting for Matt Murdock and Friends to arrive. The soft ding of the elevator opening followed by Jarvis’s voice narrating the layout of the space is more than enough of a signal for Tony to approach the elevator followed by a waiter with a tray full of champagne flutes.

“I’ll have you know I got that braille installed in the elevators just for you,” he announces with a smile, passing champagne off to Nelson and Page, Nelson handing one to Murdock.

“Mr. Stark,” Matt greets with a charming smile. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“What’d I tell you, Karen? Casanova ,” Foggy says under his breath, earning a soft laugh from the woman. “Pay up m’lady.”

Karen pulls her wallet out of her purse and shoves a twenty into Foggy’s chest. She’s feigning irritation, but it’s pretty obvious that she’s just as amused as Matt is embarrassed.

“I bet it’d take less than two minutes for you to flirt with someone, bud,” Foggy explains, patting Matt on the shoulder. “Karen went with a more conservative bet of fifteen minutes. She just doesn’t know you like I do.”

That last sentence appears to make both Nelson and Murdock a little uncomfortable as soon as it’s out in the air, and both of them handle that by downing more champagne in one sip than would be typically appropriate, but an Avenger’s party isn’t exactly a typical occasion. Page looks at the two of them with a bit of concern in her expression, but it disappears soon enough that this awkwardness must be somewhat of a long-term fixture even if it’s odd. But hey, Tony doesn’t mind if it’s going to make both of them (particularly Murdock) a bit more prone to letting the drinks flow. Loose lips spill secrets about masked vigilantes, or so the saying goes.

Karen is quickly absorbed into a conversation with Natasha and Maria about lord knows what, but she seems more than happy to be talking with some scary badass women, so they leave her to it. Matt fulfills his promise to Foggy and introduces him to the one and only Captain America. The two of them seem to hit it off pretty much immediately, and that leaves Matt free to be whisked away by Clint who they’d decided would probably be the best at getting him to open up. Both because he’s a trained intelligence agent who gets answers from targets for a living as well as the fact that Matt’s going to be more likely to bond with someone who grew up poor and with a disability. Clint’s been talking to Matt by the bar for a solid hour before he gives Tony the signal meaning they’ve breached the topic of Daredevil. Tony walks over just as Clint is finishing recounting his story of the team’s meeting with the vigilante.

“…guy just jumps out the fucking window! Can you believe that?” Clint asks with a laugh.

“Mm, does sound like something he’d do,” Matt agrees with a smile. He’s definitely at least a little bit tipsy.

“I live over in Bed Stuy so I’ve never seen him doing his usual thing. You’re from Hell’s Kitchen though, right?” Matt gives an affirmative sound and Clint dials up the charming smile to a ten. “You ever seen him?”

“Can’t say I’ve seen him,” Matt jokes with a grin. “But yeah, yeah I’ve met him a few times.” He seems to notice Tony’s presence at that point and waves vaguely in his direction.

“Yeah? Steve mentioned something about your firm helping Daredevil with the whole Fisk thing,” Tony adds, butting his way into the conversation rather smoothly if he does say so himself.

“Yeah, I guess I’m sorta his legal consultant at this point,” Matt admits with another blinding smile, and wow.

Tony’s been mostly straight since college, and he’s very deeply in love with Pepper, but none of that changes the fact that Matt Murdock is a beautiful man with an incredibly tailored suit that does an equally incredible job of showing off his unfairly fantastic body. He’d ask how a blind guy gets in that good of shape, but that might derail the Daredevil conversation, and Clint might punch him in the shoulder again for being either ignorant, or ableist, or both.

“Legal consultant, huh?” Clint asks curiously as he snags another flute of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it off to Matt. “How exactly does that work?”

Matt shrugs. “Depends on what he’s working on. Sometimes he wants to know the best way to leave evidence for the cops, sometimes he needs help with paper trails, sometimes well… attorney-client privilege, y’know,” he offers, this smile a bit more sheepish.

“So you’ve been around him without the mask and fetish gear?” Tony asks incredibly tactfully, getting himself an elbow in the ribs from Clint.

“Yep—and it’s not fetish gear,” he replies, and oh my God, he’s adorable when he pouts.

“You seem kinda protective of him,” Clint teases. “Well, everyone in Hell’s Kitchen is pretty protective of him.”

“Yeah, well he’s my…” Matt trails off awkwardly, a faint blush covering his cheeks. It could be from the alcohol, but Tony’s more than willing to bet it’s from the current topic of conversation.

“He’s your what?”

Matt shrugs again and mumbles something inaudible into the rim of his champagne flute.

“Y’know… Steve said Daredevil dealt more with you because he felt more comfortable with the whole secret identity thing around a guy who couldn’t see his face.”

“I mean, I guess he’s comfortable around me,” Matt agrees, though he seems hesitant and unsure about where this latest line of questioning is leading.

Clint’s doing an excellent job of playing the long con, taking his time to get down to the exact amount Matt Murdock knows about Daredevil, but Tony’s very intuitive, a little bit tipsy, and a lot a bit impatient. So when a lightbulb clicks on in his head he speaks out on it instantly.

“Oh my god—are you and Daredevil together ?” Tony asks in an incredulous stage whisper.

Both Matt and Clint simultaneously choke on their drinks, and it’s beautiful. Murdock is the same shade of red as Daredevil’s suit and stuttering in embarrassment.

“What?! No—I’m not—we aren’t—it’s not like that!” he tries to defend, but quickly realizes it’s hopeless and just drops his head down onto the bar with a defeated groan.

Nelson seems to have some sort of freaky sixth sense about Matt Murdock’s embarrassment, so he pops up a second later. He pokes Matt in the shoulder and gets a vague groan in response.

“Buddy? You okay?” Foggy asks softly, the tense awkwardness from earlier completely gone.

“He’s just embarrassed that we found out he’s fucking Daredevil,” Tony replies.

Foggy goes as white as a sheet and freezes up the same way Daredevil had when Tony had mentioned Matt’s name to him.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Clint assures. “I’m pretty sure he can’t get in trouble for not turning Daredevil in since he doesn’t know what he looks like. Also: spousal privilege!”

“That would only count if they were married,” Foggy points out, though he seems a bit dazed.

“Alright, then just take DD to Vegas and get hitched. Actually, I think they do same day marriages down at a place in the Village,” Tony says. “Isn’t that right, Jarvis?”

“They could also just go to city hall and procure a marriage license, Sir,” Jarvis replies, and even he seems amused.

Matt groans again and tries to bury his face deeper against his very, very nice forearms. The gesture pushes up his glasses a little, and yep, they’re definitely concealing a black eye this time too.

Tony’s about to ask about it when Foggy seems to snap himself out of his fugue state.

“Well, as entertaining and entirely un-incriminating this has been, Matty and I actually have to work tomorrow—the struggles of small business owners. So I’m just gonna collect him and Karen and take those two wonderful drunk ducklings back to his place to sleep it off. Matt, onward,” Foggy says, grabbing Matt’s cane with one hand and using the other arm to force him out of his self-imposed slump on the bar.

Once Foggy has expertly rounded up his partner and his secretary and corralled them back into the elevator, Steve wanders over to where Tony and Clint are still stunned at the bar.

“Did you two chase off my ‘normal people friends’?” Steve asks, air quotes and all.

“I think your bestest Catholic normal-person friend is maybe, possibly, making sweet, sweet gay love to a vigilante who may or may not actually be Satan,” says Tony.

And that’s what you missed on Glee.

Steve waits until the party is over and everyone’s either gone home or to bed before he sits the official Avengers down to chat. In that time Tony collects water and aspirin for everyone who isn’t superhuman, and Natasha gives Thor a basic rundown of who Daredevil is and why they care so much about him, helped along with jokes and anecdotes from a more than slightly intoxicated Clint. Jarvis explains the betting pool to him, and much to everyone’s surprise, Thor tells Jarvis to put his name down alongside Tony and Clint’s bet that Daredevil is actually Satan.

“I do not see why this option seems so far-fetched to you. According to you Midgardians, I and my family were nothing more than religious myths for centuries. I do not see why this Daredevil could not, in fact, be the same Devil as that of your Christian mythology,” he explains.

“Well, it’s not that we’re denying the existence of the Devil. We’re just saying that he probably doesn’t dress up in head to toe red leather,” Steve replies.

“Captain Rogers,” Thor says with a smile, “Was it not you who said to me upon our meeting that there was only one God and he certainly did not dress like I do?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, I guess I did say that.”

Tony returns and distributes the non-alcoholic beverages to everyone before sitting down next to Bruce. “So, I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.”

“Steve gathered us, and it’s not day,” Clint points out helpfully, earning himself a middle finger from Tony.

“Shut up, bird-brain. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we’re gathered here today to discuss the fact that Steve’s normal person friend is almost definitely sleeping with Daredevil.”

That gets him more than a few strange looks, but Thor just seems pretty accepting of it, ever the liberal.

“And are you going to tell us what made you think this?” Sam prompts gently.

“We were talking to him about Daredevil, and how the two of them work together with some frequency—Matt said he’s Daredevil’s legal consultant,” Tony starts.

“And then when we asked in more detail he got kinda sheepish and hesitant to answer,” Clint continues.

“And he’s protective of Daredevil.”

“And he says Daredevil’s his… and then trails off.”

“And then I ask if they’re together .”

“And then he just sorta stutters a half-assed denial before giving up and just putting his head down on the bar.”

“And then his friend comes over and asks if he’s okay.”

“And Tony says we know that Matt and Daredevil are a thing.”

“And he freaks out too, and grabs Matt and Karen and leaves.”

The team has been looking between Clint and Tony for the entirety of the story like they’re watching a particularly fast-paced tennis match, and once the two of them are done, Bruce is the first to speak.

“I normally don’t agree with Clint when he’s this drunk, but honestly that sounds exactly like Matt is in a relationship with Daredevil.”

Natasha looks more than a little amused and nods in agreement. “Gotta agree with Bruce here.”

The others all reluctantly agree that Clint and Tony’s evidence is pretty damning and that Matt Murdock must be dating Daredevil. Steve gets up to make himself a drink stronger than water.

“He had a black eye for sure this time,” Tony blurts out suddenly. “Do you think Daredevil gave it to him?”

That definitely kills the good humor of the room.

“That would explain why he laughed when you mentioned Matt looked beat up,” Sam says. “And disabled people are a lot more likely than abled people to end up in abusive relationships.”

“This is significantly less fun than when we just thought they were sleeping together.”

Chapter Text

Ever since the holiday party realization that Daredevil is definitely sleeping with Matt, the Avengers, with the exception of Natasha, have all been trying like hell to get a hold of Daredevil to ask him some questions and/or give him the shotgun and shovel talk. Steve ends up being the one who pursues the line of questioning Matt about whether or not Daredevil is the reason he looks beat up sometimes. Matt shuts it down pretty fast, but they all chalk that up to Matt being a devout Catholic in a relationship with a man. Since Daredevil’s so hard to find, Tony has told Jarvis to start scouring a few… less credible websites for information. Shockingly, Twitter turns out to be pretty reliable, so when a tweet saying Daredevil was recently spotted turns up Tony and Clint both head out.

The tweet mentioned Daredevil having stopped a jewelry store robbery on West 45^th and 10^th, so that’s where they start their search. Both of them are in street clothes in an attempt to blend in, but it’s almost three AM so nobody is out to pay attention anyway.

“Hey, Daredevil,” Clint says into the empty street. “I wanna make a deal.”

About thirty seconds pass by in silence before a voice answers from the rooftop directly behind them.

“Would this deal involve you leaving me alone for one goddamn week?”

They turn to look, and sure enough, Daredevil is crouching on the roof and staring down at them like a fucking gargoyle.

“Not today, Satan,” Tony says. “We’ve been looking for you all week.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve just been ignoring us? Wow, rude,” Clint replies. “And here I was, walking around Hell’s Kitchen and calling your name just hoping you’d appear.”

“I heard you. Just a heads up though: saying my name doesn’t force me to show up.” He stops talking and tilts his head in that creepy way of his. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The encounter isn’t a total bust though. It leaves Tony and Clint with a new course of action to pursue. If simply saying the Devil’s name isn’t enough to make him show, then they’ll just have to summon him. A few hours of diligent research by Jarvis and a few days for the materials and ingredients to be shipped to the Tower later, Tony and Clint find themselves in Hell’s Kitchen again; this time accompanied by Natasha who’s only there as their self-appointed chaperone.

The summoning ritual they chose involves the usual candles, chalk sigil, fancy bowl, rare herbs, animal blood, and incantations. Because Tony has a signed document promising Pepper he won’t perform Satanic rituals in public (really, don’t ask), they end up in, surprise! an abandoned warehouse. The smell from the herbs and blood is almost unbearable, and both Clint and Tony stumble their way messily through the Latin chant, but they make it through the ritual. There are no impressive flashes of lights or black smoke, and the warehouse remains silent apart from the water dripping somewhere nearby.

“I don’t think it worked,” Clint says, clearly a little disappointed, but before he can even start gathering everything they’d brought a voice comes from the shadows behind them.

“What the hell are you doing?” it asks, low and gravelly.

“Daredevil!” Clint says elatedly, spinning around to look at the man. “We were summoning you. Obviously.” He gestures to Daredevil as if to say 'You're here, aren't you?'.

Daredevil sighs, and there’s a feminine laugh from behind him as a woman with a pair of fucking sais comes into the light as well.

“Oh my God, they summoned you—oops, sorry. Lords name in vain,” she says with a smile before lazily crossing herself which causes Daredevil to flinch, her voice colored with amusement and a slight foreign accent.

Daredevil ignores the woman and focuses in on Natasha. “What are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Natasha smiles at him for a second before turning her attention back to the woman who is very clearly armed with more weapons than just the two blades. “I’m the responsible adult who’s chaperoning their field trip; don’t ask me.”

“We wanted to talk to you about your boyfriend,” Tony says simply, and the woman turns to look at Daredevil in shock.

“You have a boyfriend?! And you never told me? I’m wounded, M- Daredevil!”

“Yeah, we just wanted to ask about how you met Matt,” Clint says.

The woman at Daredevil’s side gives him a funny look. “Well, that’s a bit vain don’t you think?”

Daredevil sighs, his voice carrying a warning tone. “Elektra…”

“His boyfriend’s name is Matt Murdock. Do you know him?” Natasha supplies helpfully from where she’s been leaning casually against a cement pillar.

The woman, Elektra, cackles at that and takes a minute to catch her breath before she speaks again. “Oh! That explains why you didn’t tell me; worried I might get possessive?”

Daredevil is glaring at Elektra—at least it seems like he’s glaring. The eyes on his mask are tinted really dark. Him being able to see through them is proof enough that he’s superhuman.

“Oh, you know him?” Tony asks.

“Ah, yes. Matthew and I are well acquainted. He’s quite the lay, wouldn’t you say Daredevil?”

Daredevil glares even harder at Elektra. “I’m not talking about my sex life with you. Not in front of those idiots.”

“So you do have a sex life involving Matt! Finally, some fucking confirmation,” Clint exclaims.

“I’m not talking about my sex life with you either,” he says, pointing a warning finger at Clint. Before Tony can even speak, Daredevil points to him as well. “Or you.”

“But Daredevil,” Elektra whines with a playful pout, “I only ever got to know how he was pitching—is he a good catcher too? Or is he still the one pitching?”

Tony thinks he hears a muttered Oh my God from Daredevil, but it’s so quiet that he can’t be sure. “Okay, so you are sleeping with him. Can you tell us who keeps giving him black eyes and split lips?”

Daredevil freezes up, unsure of how to answer that question. “Uhh…”

Elektra just smiles at them though and answers for him. “Well, if you managed to get the idea that Matt and Daredevil are dating, it certainly can’t be that well-kept of a secret. It’s only fair to assume that other elements of the underworld know this little fact too. They must take poor, blind little Matthew for an easy target. I’m sure you show them that they’re wrong, don’t you darling?” she says, turning to Daredevil at the last sentence.

“Of course I show them. And they only need to be taught not to screw around in my personal affairs once. Usually, because they’re physically incapable of doing anything more demanding than drinking their dinner through a straw after I’m done with them,” he growls. “Would any of you like to learn that lesson?”

“No thanks, I’m perfectly fine with my knees only bending one way,” Clint answers cheerfully. “Tell Matt we said hi though.”

Daredevil growls again and turns to stalk off, but Elektra grabs him by the arm and pouts again. “Are we really leaving before you introduce me to your friends?”

There’s about a minute long staring contest between the pair in which Daredevil glares and Elektra just gives him puppy eyes before he sighs and gives in, pointing at each of them as he says their respective names. “Hawkeye, Iron Man, Black Widow.”

“Oo, the Avengers! You never told me you were in the major leagues!”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he growls.

“Later? Can Matthew join us?” she asks with a laugh before following after Daredevil when he stalks off. “Aw, sweetheart, don’t get all dark and broody! I’m just wondering if maybe Matthew would be down for a little ménage à trois.”

“Dark and broody is all he does!” Clint calls after them, and she laughs again in response as she and the vigilante disappear into the shadows.

“Did she look familiar to anyone else?” Tony asks once they’re safely back in the car and headed to the tower.

“She’s an assassin,” Natasha answers. “I’ve heard the name Elektra in certain circles. Rumor has it she was a child soldier. Nobody knows much of anything about her though.”

“Okay, Ms. Rushman, but I’m not familiar with any assassins other than you and Birdbrain, so where would I know her from?”

Tony gets his answer when they get back to the Tower and arrive in the common room like children on Christmas morning. Bruce and Steve are sitting at the table and drinking tea with Pepper. Sam’s down in DC with his family, so they’ll have to tell him about summoning the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen some other time.

It’s times like these when Tony wishes he could slam open elevator doors, but alas he can’t. He can still yell though.

“Pay up, motherfuckers!” he shouts as he enters the room with Clint on his heels and Natasha behind them. “We just summoned the Devil!”

“Please tell me you didn’t do that in public. I’m still running interference with the press because you said a baby was ‘unique’ looking three days ago. I don’t need rumors that you’re a Satanist too,” Pepper says, sounding unsurprised.

“Wait—that shit you found online actually worked?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Hell yeah it did! He showed up, said he was sleeping with Matt, and introduced his friend to us!” Clint says.

“He brought a friend?” Bruce asks curiously.

“An assassin named Elektra. Pretty, southeast Asian, French accent, about 5’5”,” Natasha answers, not trusting Tony or Clint to describe her accurately. “She seemed dangerous.” That was just about the highest praise Natasha’s ever given.

Pepper frowns slightly at that. “Elektra Natchios?”

“I’m sorry, who?” Tony asks.

“She has ties to Roxxon. You were kissing up to her at that charity banquet a couple months ago to try and win her over. Making her ‘defect to the Stark side’ if I recall correctly,” Pepper says with a polite smile.

“Well I’ll be damned; her name’s actually Elektra.”

“Did you ask him why Matt always looks so beat up?” Steve asks, urging them gently back on topic. He's been pretty worried about his friend for the past few days

“Oh yeah, Elektra said people mistake him for an easy target to get at Daredevil. He’s also a criminal defense attorney in Hell’s Kitchen who’s very selective about his clientele. I’m sure he leaves no shortage of unhappy criminals in his wake,” Tony answers.

Steve doesn’t seem like he’s completely convinced by that answer, but he drops the topic to listen to Clint and Tony recount the events of that evening. Hell, Steve even laughs at the appropriate times in the story when Natasha has to correct the exaggerations of her teammates (“No, he definitely didn’t appear in a cloud of smoke. He was hiding in the shadows.” and “Of course it smelled like sulfur; you used it in the summoning ritual.” are just a few of the corrections she has to make.)

Chapter Text

It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and one Matthew Murdock is Not Having It ™. He can handle idiots. He can handle early morning court dates. He can handle between twelve and sixteen Russian mob enforces at a time if last night proved anything. But he can’t handle the combination of all of those things, especially not without coffee. He really, really shouldn’t have gone out the night before a trial started; Foggy and Claire had both told him not to in their own ways. (“ Matt, please, I’m begging you. If you pass out in court again it’ll kill our reputation as lawyers. Drive yourself into the ground, but don’t you dare take me with you. It’s too late for me to be a butcher. ” and “ I don’t care how many damn times you break them; your ribs will never be bendy like you want, and you can’t go to court with a punctured lung.” are just their respective ways of showing concern.) Well, jokes on both of them, because here Matt is. Granted he’s twenty minutes late and his list of injuries includes, but is not limited to, three cracked ribs, a split lip, a pretty bad scalp laceration that he thinks he cleaned the blood matting his hair up (he can’t be sure though; he got hit in the face pretty hard repeatedly and everything’s smelled like blood for about six hours. And he can’t reach either arm up high enough to touch his head and check), two black eyes, no fewer than three fractured fingers, a mild (by his standards) concussion, and a stab wound on his side. The knife got deflected off one of the cracked ribs so it’s pretty shallow (again, by his standards) despite the Carrie -like amounts of blood he’d left on Claire’s couch. Just to be safe he covered it in three layers of gauze, covered that in duct tape, and put on a black suit that morning in case he happens to bleed through all of that.

Everyone who has anything to do with the shitty little court in Hell’s Kitchen knows that Matthew Murdock does not miss court. He shows up late occasionally. He shows up bruised damn near every time. He’s shown up bloody twice, but never has he shown up like this.

As soon as he walks, nay, limps into the courtroom he can feel the eyes gathering on him, growing exponentially with every step he takes. He hears Karen gasp and Foggy sigh in defeat, but both of their hearts are racing as well as that of their client’s. He barely makes it to sit beside Foggy before he can feel his legs about to give out. He’s white-knuckling his cane even with his broken fingers, and even the prosecution gives a concerned look to the bailiff. He can hear the murmurs through the courtroom as well as himself brushing off Karen’s concerned (yet clearly pissed off) comment of “You get into another car accident?” with a soft “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Is he okay?” the ADA asks her mentoring DA softly, giving Matt concerned looks across the aisle.

In contrast to the absolute hush that fell over the gallery when he walked in, he can hear every single person whispering to one another about what the hell happened to the poor, blind defense attorney.

The moment the judge comes out of her chambers, Matt can hear her mutter “Oh hell no.” under her breath.

“Counselors, approach the bench,” she says for everyone to hear, and Matt barely manages to hold in a shout as getting to his feet again aggravates yet another injury he hadn’t realized he had until this moment.

Foggy offers him an arm, and he takes it though he keeps as much weight as he can on the cane in his other hand. The prosecution approaches as well, and Matt doesn’t need super-senses to feel the concerned looks they and the judge are giving him.

“Now Mr. Murdock, I’m not sure what sort of courtroom you think I run, but it isn’t the kind that has a body count. And I don’t plan on that changing today.”

“Your honor- I’m fine—” Matt protests, lifting his arms in an attempt to gesture casually, but he regrets it immediately when he feels the stitches in his side rip. He can immediately tell from the feeling of the blood soaking through that he definitely hadn’t placed that duct tape correctly.

“Fine? You look about three kicks to the head past fine,” she replies.

Foggy isn’t offering any support, so Matt opens his mouth to offer a counter-argument. The moment he opens his mouth he knows he’s doomed because that’s also the moment he hears the first drop of blood hit the ground. It’ll only be a few seconds before someone else notices.

The ADA’s heart starts racing and the scent of adrenaline floods the air before she says anything.

“Oh my god—you’re bleeding,” she says.

“Bailiff—get me the paramedics,” the judge calls out, and the courtroom’s quiet lull of gossip explodes.

With the maybe-not-so-minor concussion, that much noise alone is enough to make Matt flinch. He knows he must black out for a second or two because the next thing he knows Foggy and the DA are lowering him to the ground and Karen has rushed over to kneel beside him.

“You’re a lot heavier than you look, Murdock,” the DA mutters as Foggy works on getting Matt’s shirt open.

Foggy hesitates, both because he knows full well there are some inexplicable and horrifying scars under there and because he’s scared to see what new scars have joined the collection since he last looked. He decides to just yank the metaphorical (hypothetical?) Band-Aid off and rips Matt’s shirt open the rest of the way.

Karen, the judge, and the prosecution are all staring at Matt, and they realize a few things with varying degrees of speed and relevance: one: Matt Murdock has been stabbed and stitched up and ripped his stitches out, two: Matt Murdock has definitely been stabbed before, three: Matt Murdock definitely has at least one broken rib, and four: Matt Murdock has just as nice a body as a face. That last one isn’t really important, but those abs are impossible to ignore. Foggy is the only one who isn’t just gaping, so he grabs Karen’s scarf from her and presses it down over the wound. Matt isn’t aware enough to hold back the scream when Foggy applies pressure on two of his broken ribs. After that, everything fades out.

When Matt comes to, everything is too loud. He can hear a baby screaming. He can hear people crying. He can hear so many flat-lining heart monitors—the beep of his own, the dripping of his IV, the breathing of the man in the next room, of the man the next floor down, a sneeze from the elevator. It smells like death, and blood, and bleach, and ammonia, and vomit, and alcohol, and saline. The air tastes of all of those things as well, but the taste of death is the most cloying. He doesn’t even realize that he’s started to thrash around until he feels two familiar hands on his shoulders and hears a soft, strong voice.

“Hey, hey Matt. You’re alright. I told you not to pull your stitches,” she says, and the world on fire starts to form more solidly around him. The scent of lavender shampoo and cheap deodorant and vanilla perfume coupled with the swishing of scrubs and a steady heartbeat help him ground himself.

“Claire..?”

“Yeah, dumbass. It’s me.”

“I can’t tune it out—I can’t make it quiet—” he says, too out of it to worry about how frantic and panicky he sounds.

“We’ve got you on a lot of morphine,” she says calmly as she adjusts the IV slightly, turning down the dose before Matt even has to ask.

A doctor gives bad news to someone in the neo-natal unit, and Matt flinches at the scream the woman lets out. “Get rid of it—I don’t need painkillers,” he says through gritted teeth.

Claire scoffs, and he can hear her hair brush against her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Sorry Matt, no can do. You’ve got a cop outside that wants to talk to you. Told him I’d get him as soon as you were coherent.”

“I can’t—I can’t hear who it is,” he says pitifully, and Claire sighs.

“Started with an M I think. He was talking to Foggy earlier; seemed like they knew each other.”

Matt tries his hardest to focus on the heartbeat just outside the door to confirm that it’s Brett’s, but he can’t tune out the ambient noises well enough to hear it. It’s infuriating; filtering out unnecessary information was one of the first lessons Stick taught him, and here he is, well into his adulthood and unable to do it because of a little morphine. Pathetic , he hears in Stick’s voice.

“You can let him in,” Matt says softly, and Claire nods in response.

She finishes up with checking the stitches on his side before heading out of the room. It’s muffled by the other sounds clouding his hearing, but Matt can make out bits and pieces of the conversation.

“… shock. Don’t be too…”

“…ask a few questions… all.”

The door opens and Brett walks in. He’s not friends with Matt; Matt’s an acquaintance. A friend of a friend, but hardly even that sometimes with how weird things have been between the two since Matt’s ‘car accident’.

“You look like shit, Murdock,” Brett says, coming to sit at the chair by the side of the bed.

“Wish I could say the same to you, officer.”

“Charming as always. Wanna tell me what happened?”

“I got mugged.” The lie rolls off Matt’s tongue more easily than it would’ve in the past. He’s gotten more reckless recently, especially after the Avenger’s absurd speculation about him being in a relationship with Daredevil. He doesn’t know why, but just the mention of it sets his teeth on edge.

“So you got mugged, beaten, and stabbed, but you didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, you found someone to stitch you up and just went home,” Brett replies, sarcasm oozing out of every word.

“A hospital would’ve kept me overnight. I had court in the morning.”

“Cut the shit, Murdock,” Brett snaps, before sighing and dragging his hand down his face. “Getting mugged once I’d believe. But I saw the scars on you. That shit didn’t come from a mugging.”

Matt presses his lips together into a thin line and pointedly doesn’t reply.

“Is someone hurting you?” he asks with a surprising amount of softness coloring his voice.

“No one’s hurting me,” he snaps. “The scars are old. I forgot they were there.” That one’s a pretty pathetic lie, but it’s the best Matt can come up with while he’s listening to the little girl in the room above him have a seizure.

“You don’t forget that sort of injury.”

“I grew up at a boxing gym. My dad was in the mafia’s pocket before he got murdered for it. I was brought up in an orphanage after that. A Catholic orphanage in the nineties . I’ve forgotten most of the scars I have. It’s easy since I’ve never seen most of them.”

“So those are from when you were a kid?”

Matt nods in response.

“Then how come the x-rays show your ribs are still healing from breaks that range from a couple months to a couple weeks old?”

Matt doesn’t reply to that at all.

“I know somebody’s been hurtin’ you, Murdock. You not giving him up means it’s someone you’re close to, right? You’ve only got about two friends, and I don’t think Page could do that much damage if she tried.”

“It isn’t Foggy hurting me if that’s what you’re implying. I’m fine . The cops don’t need to get involved—they wouldn’t be getting this involved if I wasn’t disabled. Or would the NYPD like a lawsuit on its hands because it’s treating a blind man like he’s incompetent?” Matt replies venomously.

Brett just sighs. He’s responded to more domestic violence calls than he can count, and they almost always run the same course. The victim insists they aren’t being hurt. The police can’t do shit if the victim won’t press charges. The victim ends up dead. Then they can finally make it stick to the abuser but at the cost of someone’s life. As much as he and Matt butt heads, Brett really doesn’t want to see him dead.

“I won’t tell you your business, Murdock, but strangling is almost a guaranteed precursor to murder. Judging by the bruises on your neck I’d say you’ve got maybe two more fights with this guy before the next time you end up in the hospital it’s in a body bag.”

Brett leaves after that, heading back to the waiting area to talk to Foggy, and the morphine has started to wear off enough that Mat can focus in on the conversation even if it’s still riddled with the other noises of the hospital.

“He isn’t giving me anything, Nelson. You know who’s hurting him?”

There isn’t a response from Foggy, but his breathing gives away that he wants to say something.

“You do know. And you’re protecting him too.”

“Matt’s probably confused about everything. I’m gonna go check on him. C’mon, Karen.”

Brett’s footsteps fade into the background as Foggy’s and Karen’s get louder every second. There’s a short knock at the door before it opens and the two walk in. It’s Karen who speaks first.

“What the hell, Matt?! You could’ve died!” Her voice is thick and the air around her tastes salty—she’s crying, and she has been for a while.

Foggy’s sniffling, but he’s not currently crying, so he must’ve gotten it out earlier. “Matt, tell her.”

Matt’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Foggy, I—”

“Tell her. Or I will. You know I’m not lying.” His heartbeat isn’t steady; it’s not the truth.

“I got beat up by the Russian mafia,” Matt replies, the heart monitor keeping at its steady pace. For once Matt’s on equal footing with everyone else when it comes to knowing if he’s telling the truth.

“That’s not what I meant,” Foggy replies coldly.

Matt doesn’t reply, simply setting his mouth in a harsh line instead. He isn’t telling Karen about it, and judging by Foggy’s heart rate he’s not going to say anything either.

“The Russian—is this about that case? With the sketchy bar owner? Oh my God, Matt!”

“They think I know about Daredevil. And I’m an easy target,” he answers, thankful for the excuse Elektra had used for him in front of the Avengers. It’s a lot more believable than anything he could’ve come up with.

“Why the hell would you know anything about him?”

“We kept in contact after the Fisk case—Karen, please. I didn’t go to the hospital because then they’d ask questions, and the cops would’ve gotten involved, and I know too much about Daredevil. I don’t want to get him sent to jail, Karen. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone, Matt. You know I won’t…” she says softly.

Karen is eating out of his palm with that performance that technically contained 0 lies, but Foggy still looks pissed at him

“Hey Karen,” Foggy says softly, “you think you could go by Matt’s place and pick up some clothes for him? The nurse said he’s gonna be here for at least a day or two.”

Karen nods immediately and takes the key Foggy is holding out to her. “Yeah—of course.”

Once Karen leaves, the room is filled with silent tension. Foggy wants to say something. He knows that Matt knows he wants to say something.

Neither of them says anything.

Foggy leaves to take a phone call from their client to tell them the court date has been rescheduled.

“I believe you’d all like to know that Matthew Murdock has collapsed in court and been rushed to the emergency room. He’s being treated at Metro General. Would you like to hear further information?” Jarvis’s polite voice announces out of nowhere. Everyone’s in the common area because Bruce is cooking Indian food for them, so everyone hears it.

“Uh, yes J. More information please,” Tony says, noticing the way everyone’s tensing up. Was he attacked? Was he attacked because he’s friends with the Avengers?

“I do not have any official sources for what exactly happened, but I have compiled and cross-checked various social media postings to form a rough picture of what occurred. It seems as though Mr. Murdock came into court in very poor physical shape, and shortly after being called to approach the judge he fell down whilst profusely bleeding from a wound on his right side.”

Steve immediately gets up from the table. “I’m gonna go find out what happened.”

Sam has a slight sinking feeling in his stomach, so he gets up as well. “I’ll come with you.”

The two Avengers take a cab straight from the Tower to the hospital, and Steve has to put on some of that patented Captain America charm to get the nurse at the desk to tell them what room Matt’s in. Sam waits nearby and wonders if a blind guy would still appreciate flowers. He figures they’ll smell nice even if he can’t see them, so he buys a small arrangement with baby’s breath and peonies from the hospital gift shop.

The ride up to the third floor in the elevator is silent except for the coughing from one of the men in there with them, but the nervous energy is radiating off of Steve strongly enough that the other people look a bit unnerved.

When they enter the hospital room, an irritated-looking nurse is scolding Matt. She’s pretty with dark wavy hair and deep brown eyes, but she’s also a little bit scary.

“I swear to God, I don’t care why your other, better halves ran off; you are staying right here. If you tear those stitches again, I’m gonna sew you to the damn bed,” she threatens, pointing at him aggressively despite the fact that he can’t see it. She turns around when the door opens and does a double take at seeing Captain America until she remembers whose hospital room she’s in. “Captain America and his friend are here. They can lecture you about being a dumbass—you clearly don’t listen when I tell you off.”

“Don’t let him get up,” she says, turning to point threateningly at Matt one last time before leaving.

Steve sits at Matt’s bedside, but Sam stands and grabs the chart at the end of the bed.

“Bruised larynx. Scalp laceration. Concussion. Knife wound. Three broken fingers. Seven broken ribs in various stages of healing. Wanna tell us who did this to you?” Sam asks calmly.

Matt seems to hunker down even more in the hospital bed and shrugs vaguely.

“Did Daredevil do this to you..?”

Matt glares in his general direction. “No. He didn’t.” The heart monitor picks up speed for just a second before leveling out again.

“Well, who did?” Steve asks in a scarily calm voice.

“The Russian mob. It doesn’t matter—Daredevil took care of them.”

“Why the hell didn’t you come to the hospital?! Didn’t he see what shape you were in?!” Steve asks incredulously.

“Because people would ask questions! Who knows who’s paying off cops to do their dirty work? I’d rather get beat up by lowlife criminals because Daredevil can do something about that. If I walk into an interrogation room and get wheeled out, he can’t do anything about that without being labeled a cop killer and having the entire city after him again!” Matt defends vehemently, trying to sit up a little and wincing hard when he pulls a couple of stitches. “He doesn’t hurt me.” The beeping speeds up. “He’s not going to hurt me.” It stays fast.

“Okay Matt,” Sam says softly. “We believe you. This seems to be getting you pretty worked up though, and it looks like you’re bleeding again. I’m gonna call in the nurse, okay?” Sam presses the ‘call nurse’ button beside the bed, and less than a minute later the same woman from earlier walks in.

“Do you like being in pain?” she snaps, pushing past Sam and Steve to get to the bedside. “I told you two not to let him get up,” she scolds before focusing back on Matt. “Matthew Michael Murdock, you make me do these stitches a fourth time, and so help me God, I will kill you myself if you don’t manage to die on your own before then. Would you two close the door on your way out?” The instant switch from pissed ranting to polite request is one of those things that only a member of the health services industry can pull off, and it has Sam dragging Steve out and shutting the door behind them in an instant.

The walk back to the car is pretty much silent, but once they get in (with Sam driving. Steve learned to drive in Nazi Germany and is therefore only allowed to drive in Nazi Germany) Steve speaks up.

“Do you think the Russian mob really did that?”

Sam is quiet for a minute longer; he likes to think before he gives an answer. “Yeah. But I do think there’s more going on.”

Steve and Sam drive straight from the hospital to the 15 th precinct of the NYPD in order to see if Daredevil actually did leave any gift-wrapped Russian mobsters behind for the cops the night before. The desk sergeant sends them to the captain’s office because as much as he wants to help Captain America, he isn’t going to divulge classified case files to the guy who notoriously helped spill a bajillion government secrets straight onto the internet. The captain, thankfully, is more than willing to accept help from the Avengers—or at least one Avenger and his friend. They learn that 21 members of the Russian mob were arrested the night before in connection with drug trafficking and that one of the men is still being held in an interrogation room.

Steve and Sam manage to argue their way into 10 minutes with the mobster and no cameras on in the room. Steve’s wholesome ‘truth, justice, and the American way’ act really helps sell the cops on thinking it’s a good idea to leave the two of them alone with the guy. They’re entirely right in their assumptions that Captain America and Friend won’t torture or otherwise brutalize the suspect, but that doesn’t mean they won’t make credible-sounding threats.

Steve shuts the door to the interrogation room loudly behind him, squeezing the door handle hard enough that the metal shrieks in protest. They decided it’s probably best for Sam to wait on the other side of the one-way mirror and observe what goes down.

The thug glares at Steve as he comes to sit in front of the man.

“So, looks like Daredevil got you pretty good last night,” Steve says calmly, looking over the nasty black eye the man has.

“Should’ve seen that fucker. We got him back good,” the man growls in an accent so comically heavy that Sam feels the need for a reality check.

“From what I hear, you had it coming to you. The hell did you expect to happen when you kidnapped and tortured a blind man in Hell’s Kitchen?”

The man gives Steve a look like he’s crazy and scoffs. “You got the wrong fuckin’ person. Only son of a bitch I laid hands on was Daredevil.”

The man seems to be telling the truth—he really doesn’t seem smart enough to be a good liar, but Steve keeps pushing just in case.

“So the half-dead civilian in the hospital got attacked by some other Russian trashbags? Believable,” he retorts sarcastically

“Why would I lie?” the man asks with a lazy smile.

Steve glares at him and reaches across the table. He tugs on the chain of the handcuffs attaching the man to the table and rips it like a piece of dental floss.

“Oh no. Would you look at that,” Steve says, completely deadpan. “You got out of your handcuffs and attacked me. I had no choice but to stop you—isn’t that right, Sam?”

Sam presses the button to speak into the room. “Actually, I think you should publicly thank him for being so helpful with identifying perpetrators of the attack.”

Steve snaps and flashes a winning grin at the man who’s still staring in awe and fear at the snapped chain. “I think that’s exactly what I’ll do. Thank you for your time.

As Steve gets up the man starts speaking frantically. “You do that and I’m fuckin’ dead!  There wasn’t no fucking civilian. Only man there was Daredevil, and that fucker ain’t no man. I swear it was just him—”

Steve puts on a more realistic smile. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir.”

When he leaves he slams the door hard enough that the glass panel in the center of the door cracks, and the mobster flinches at the sound of it.

“I think he was telling you the truth,” Sam says with a sigh. “So Matt didn’t get beat up by the Russian mob.”

“The only other option that makes sense is that Daredevil did it. But why ?”

Sam shrugs. “Frustrated about the mobsters getting in too many hits on him?” Neither Steve nor Sam like that answer.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that every Avenger, including Natasha, wants to hunt down Daredevil and skin him alive for putting Matt in the hospital, the fact of life is simply that other, more pressing situations arise after about two months. (Unfortunately, Daredevil is nowhere to be seen in that time, except for the rare occasion when he’s duking it out with the Punisher.) The current situation that the Avengers are dealing with involves children disappearing from orphanages and group homes all around the city. It’s a pretty big deal considering that the toll of missing children is now in the double digits, and much to the Avengers’ trepidation it appears to have attracted the attention of a few of the city’s caped crusaders.

It takes them a little over a week for Jarvis to get images of the children on enough different CCTV cameras that he can approximate the location of where they’re being held. To everyone’s mutual dismay the location is on Staten Island, and there’s no shortage of bitching about it.

“Staten fucking Island—the place is like the dog shit on the bottom of the shoe of New York,” Tony whines as everyone is gathering their gear.

Natasha makes an affirmative noise as she checks her Widow’s Bites.

“Hey, at least it’s not Jersey,” Steve says with a smile.

Clint and Tony both look even more pained at the mere thought of going across state lines, but Bruce and Sam just roll their eyes at the dramatics.

“Okay, Jersey isn’t that bad,” Sam defends. “You guys are just mean New Yorkers. Stop being a stereotype.”

“Uh, think again my fine feathered friend,” Tony replies while Steve just looks at Sam with a scandalized expression. “Jersey smells like garbage and fish and is basically the holding cell for all the shit that couldn’t cut in in New York. Like Snooki!”

“Okay well, New York smells like piss and hotdog water and has Trump, so you really can’t judge too hard.”

“Y’know, I get where you’re coming from, but you will literally never change my mind about this ever,” Steve responds as he grabs his shield. “You guys ready to go?”

The extremely short ride to Staten Island on the quinjet is filled with similar bickering about what state is the best. then moves to which country. Steve, Tony, and Clint say New York is the best. Bruce says he likes North Dakota, Sam says he likes Wyoming, and Natasha says she likes Ohio because it’s the only state she’s ever been legally exiled from. Nobody asks about that. For countries, Sam and Bruce both choose Switzerland. Tony likes Monaco. Steve’s choice is Finland surprisingly. Clint says Cuba, and Natasha says Hungary just to make Clint glare at her. She finds it immensely entertaining.

Before they can get to debating about anything else, they land in a large, empty parking lot outside an abandoned strip mall. The children are being held in a likely similarly abandoned dojo a block and a half away, so as soon as Tony and Sam have suited up they all head in that direction. When they arrive at the back entrance of the dojo, a completely unexpected sight greets them.

Eleven children ranging from about six to thirteen are sitting on the pavement with none other than Frank Castle—the fucking Punisher—babysitting them. He’s sitting there telling a story to the kids while the youngest two are sitting in his lap, and he only looks up when Tony speaks.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Don’t swear in front of the kids,” the mass-murdering maniac scolds.

“What. The. Frick,” Tony corrects.

“Relax. We were gonna bring the kids to the police station in just a few minutes. But something came up.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Steve asks cautiously.

“Me and Red. Y’see, I kinda needed his help with this job, so…”

There’s a loud crash in the dojo followed by some muffled yelling. The kids and Frank look unperturbed.

“What’s going on in there?” Sam asks.

The Punisher—the up until just this moment presumed-dead Punisher—just shrugs. “Red said he’s having a chat with the guy.”

None of the Avengers know who Red is, but as soon as Steve opens the back door, they hear a very familiar voice shouting. It’s not one they’d expected to hear outside Hell’s Kitchen though.

“They’re children! You can’t just take them, Stick!” Daredevil yells at an old blind man with white hair.

“I don’t see what the big fuckin’ deal is. I did it with you.”

Daredevil just gapes at the man as the Avengers all crowd in to watch the screaming match, Natasha interpreting everything for Clint because his hearing aids have been on the fritz as of late.

“That kid is six years old !” Daredevil shouts, clenching his fists at his side. “He can hardly even read yet! How’s he supposed to be your damn soldier when he’s still sucking his thumb?!”

“Well jeez, maybe if I’d started you that young then you wouldn’t have pussied out on me like you did.”

“I was ten years old! I didn’t pussy out—you left!”

“And look at you now: putting on a costume to stop muggers in back alleys. I’m clearly missing out.”

Daredevil is obviously about to snap and raises his fist to throw a punch, but the man—Stick—just smiles and inclines his head slightly towards where the Avengers are standing and watching. “You sure you wanna do that with an audience, kid?”

Daredevil punches him in the face, and then it’s on. Steve is about to jump in there and stop Daredevil from beating an old blind man to death, but Natasha sets her hand on his shoulder and holds him back

The guy is blind. He is very obviously blind with milky blue eyes that don’t even attempt to move towards the sources of sounds, but he’s fighting Daredevil. And he’s holding his own. Daredevil throws a punch and misses because the blind guy dodges out of the way

“Atta boy. Now if only you had the guts of your friend out there with the guns. At least he isn’t afraid of goin’ to Hell for killing people. He’s a real soldier.”

“At least he doesn’t kill kids ,” Daredevil snarls venomously. This time his punch connects, but so does the old man’s.

Stick rolls his eyes. “Boohoo, Matty. It’s a war. Kids are gonna get killed.”

Daredevil kicks the guy in the side of the knee. Hard . And he goes down to both knees with a grimace on his face.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did,” Daredevil hisses, and Stick just laughs.

“What? You gonna turn me into the cops? Yeah, that’s gonna work out for you. I don’t know anything that could get me a pardon now, do I? Hmm, if only I knew the identity of the vigilante they’ve been after for two years.”

Daredevil— Matty the man had called him —growls lowly in response.

It’s at that point that Steve steps in.

“Daredevil, we’ll take him.”

Daredevil turns his head to face Steve and frowns. “No. This one’s mine.”

Sam sighs. “Daredevil, you don’t kill people. He says he knows your identity, so I doubt you can hand him over to the police. We’re your best option for what to do with him.”

Daredevil kicks the kneeling man in the ribs and growls again. “Fine. But I’m staying with him.”

“That’s alright; we need to talk to you about something anyway,” Steve says, tossing Daredevil a pair of handcuffs, which he immediately puts on the man.

Daredevil ignores Steve’s words. “You should call the police to come get the kids. I’m not going to let them be near him, so somebody else is going to have to take them.”

“Call the cops, Stark,” Natasha orders as they all walk back outside, Daredevil keeping himself as a barrier between the old man—Stick, he’d called him—and the children.

Frank gets up after setting the kids who had been on his lap on the sidewalk. “Mind if I hitch a ride back to Manhattan? Don’t really feel like takin’ the subway.”

Daredevil nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t mind having you here to help with the old man.”

Everyone’s watching the strangely civil, damn near friendly conversation between the two of them in awe. Last they heard, Daredevil and the Punisher were trying to kill each other because apparently Hell’s Kitchen only has room for one crazy vigilante.

“You two should wait on the quinjet with the old man,” Natasha says. “We’re government sanctioned—sort of. You two are criminals. The cops don’t need to see you.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” the Punisher replies before he and Daredevil head onto the quinjet. It looks like the Punisher is whispering something—probably threats of violence—to the old guy.

Once the two are out of sight and the cops have been called, Clint speaks up. “Uh… what the he—heck was that?” he asks, casting a glance at the children who are now enamored by Captain America.

“A lot just happened. What are you talking about specifically?” Bruce replies.

“Mostly the Punisher and Daredevil’s super-secret bromance. Why—what were you thinking about?”

“What Daredevil and the old guy were talking about. It sounded like he trained Daredevil. As a kid.”

“Guess that means he isn’t Satan,” Natasha supplies, earning a half-hearted glare from Clint.

“Yeah, it just means he was a child soldier,” Sam says with a frown as red and blue flashing lights appear.

The cops seem grateful enough to the Avengers for finding the kids that they don’t ask too many questions. Within five minutes everyone is boarding the quinjet where Daredevil and the Punisher are bickering about something and ignoring the sarcastic comments that Stick throws in.

“I don’t care that he beat your ass, Frank,” Daredevil growls. “You aren’t killing him. He’s going to rot in prison where he belongs.”

“Oh come on. You really think a guy with that much money—that much power is gonna stay behind bars? You’re a damn fool if you think the law works that way, Red.”

Stick snorts at that, and Daredevil glares at him. “Oh, this kid believes in the law, alright. Believes in it so much that he has to go out and take it into his more hands, even when he spent a few hundred grand getting himself the cushy desk job.”

“Are you rich like Batman too?” Tony asks. “Because that’s a lot of money to normal people. Are you rich like Elektra?”

Stick shoots a look at Daredevil. “Really, kid? You introduced them to Ellie?”

“Shut up, old man,” the Punisher interjects, kicking him in the ribs with a steel-toed boot.

“He wants to put a bullet in your head for a lot of reasons, Stick. Maybe I should add onto that. Tell him about the starving, brainwashed, trafficked little kid you killed on sight,” Daredevil hisses.

“He killed a fucking kid?!” the Punisher asks, his hand already going to one of his guns.

“Okay! That’s enough of all this!” Tony says, stepping between the vigilantes and their prisoner. “We’re not shooting the blind old guy in front of the Avengers because then we’d be forced to arrest you, and I have a feeling you’d rather stay a dead man in the eyes of the law, Mr. Castle.”

Frank mutters something under his breath but moves his hand away from the gun much to everyone’s relief.

“Alright, Jarvis. Take us back to the Tower, buddy,” Tony says, and the doors of the jet shut before it takes off.

“Can I ask you something, Stick? That’s your name right?” Clint says, glaring at the man. “How the hell were you fighting Daredevil? You’re blind .”

“And you’re deaf,” the old man retorts with a scoff. “The hell kinda question is that? You askin’ because I’m old?”

“No, I’m asking cause you’re blind,” Clint replies, not letting on how surprised he is that the man knows about his own disability.

“He’s blind too—why aren’t you askin’ him?” Stick replies, pointing over his shoulder to Daredevil who fucking freezes.

Now, Tony’s the official genius of the team, but none of them are stupid. The puzzle pieces finally start to fit together. The bruises on Matt after Daredevil was out the night before. Matt being extra roughed up after the recent Punisher/Daredevil smack-downs. The dark tinted eye holes.  The fighting perfectly in the dark. The extremely familiar jawline and lips .

“ Matt?! ” Tony shrieks at a pitch high enough that both the blind men cringe.

Because Daredevil—the crazy, violent, bloody vigilante who breaks bones for fun—is actually bleeding heart blind lawyer Matt Murdock, the guy who speaks passionately about how the law is a standard above all others. The guy who guilt trips the Avengers for the aftermath of their fights when he’s the reason for half of Hell’s Kitchen getting blown up in an all-out gang war the previous year. Matt Murdock, their beautiful, sweet, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly friend, has likely broken more people’s bones than Natasha and Clint combined.

“Did you have to tell them that?” Daredevil—Matthew motherfucking Murdock—growls at Stick.

The old man gives him a smirk. “The girl and your friend already knew.”

Frank Castle looks at Matt like he’s an idiot. “You defended me in court for multiple hours for multiple days in a row. You said the same shit there that you told me when you were in the mask! You didn’t even bother with the damn Batman voice half the time either. ‘Sides Murdock, your suits ain’t much looser than the skin-tight leather.”

“It’s Kevlar,” Matt snaps, and suddenly the two of them are bickering like an old married couple.

“Uh, no. This is Kevlar,” Frank says, poking the bulletproof vest he’s wearing. He points back to Matt. “That’s kinky.”

The Avengers turn to Natasha because she’s the only girl there, and comprehending the Punisher and Daredevil arguing about the legitimacy of his costume as armor is just too much to handle.

She just smiles at them. “I told you. No two people both have that ass.”

“No fucking way did you know that,” Tony replies because he hasn’t yet learned not to underestimate Natasha Romanov.

“Jarvis,” Natasha says pleasantly, “would you please announce my guess for the betting pool.”

“Certainly. Just after you all returned from the offices of Nelson and Murdock, Ms. Romanov asked me to secretly take note of her bet that Daredevil is blind and likely has enhanced other senses.”

“Looks like I win,” she says with a smile just as they touch down on top of the Tower.

Daredevil is looking slightly dejected, and the Punisher just pats him on the shoulder. “Your identity’s still mostly a secret, kid—don’t worry. And I thought it was real sweet of you to take my case.”

Daredevil looks at the Punisher blankly for a moment. “Is that why you changed your plea? Because you knew who I was?”

The Punisher just smiles back at him as the jet’s door open. “Well, I’m outta here. I’ll see you around.”

“Don’t kill anyone in my neighborhood,” Matt calls after him.

“By now I think it’s our neighborhood, Red,” Frank says before disappearing into the elevator and leaving Daredevil looking more scandalized than Steve when Sam said Jersey wasn’t that bad.

“Come on, Matt,” Natasha says. “We’ve got some guys waiting inside to take Stick off your hands.”

The Avengers and Matt and Stick all pile off the jet and into the Tower, where Fury and a few other non-disgraced agents are waiting.

They pass Stick off to Sharon Carter and watch as the group shackles him more thoroughly before leading him away.

Daredevil inclines his head slightly towards Fury as he follows his group out. “And you all call my outfit fetish gear.”

Clint, Sam, and Tony all absolutely lose it laughing while Natasha cracks a smile and Steve does the polite adult think and chokes back his laughter.

“How do you know what he’s wearing?” Bruce asks with a smile.

“I can hear the coat brushing against his ankles and I can feel the air currents it makes when he moves, so I know it’s long. It smells like leather and dye. I can feel the air around it is warmer, kind of like Natasha so I know it’s a dark color.,” he replies. “Floor length leather trench coat, probably black, purple, navy, or dark red.”

“That’s amazing,” Sam says. “So you just have really fancy echolocation.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.”

“That’s so fucking cool—how’d you get your powers? I thought you were blinded in a car accident,” Tony says.

“The truck was carrying radioactive chemicals. The chemicals got in my eyes and blinded me, but it dialed everything else up to a thousand,” he says, like he’s explained it before.

“So who all knows?” Steve asks calmly, though it’s obvious he’s a little mad, and no one can blame him. Matt was his friend first, and he’s obviously been super concerned about the guy in the past couple of months.

“Foggy, Father Lantom, Stick, Elektra, Frank apparently , and you all,” Matt replies. “I’m sorry for making you all worry about me. But you guys are the Avengers, and I am technically a criminal.” He hesitates a second before pulling off the mask. “This is supposed to be part of the reveal, I think. Not that it really matters with you guys.”

“Father Lantom knows?” Steve asks incredulously.

Matt just gives him a blinding (no pun intended) smile. “Seal of confession.”

It’s at that moment that something clicks for Tony. “Jarvis,” he says calmly, “you’ve analyzed Daredevil’s body and movements a lot, right?”

“I have, Sir.”

“So you definitely know his height, weight, build—all that stuff.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you also know Matt’s height, weight, build, etcetera.”

“Of course, Sir. I analyze all of the guests to the Tower.”

“So how long have you known he was Daredevil?”

“Since his first visit to the Tower, Sir.”

“And you didn’t think that was a pertinent thing to mention?!”

“Well, Sir, you never asked,” Jarvis replies with a voice that almost sounds smug.

“Wait, hold up, if you aren’t actually Satan, then why’d you show up when we summoned you?” Clint asks.

“Hell’s Kitchen has a cult problem. I heard weird chanting and smelled animal blood; of course I checked it out,” Matt explains.

“Another question,” Tony says, just now recovering from Jarvis’s absolute betrayal, “are you actually gay?”

Matt sniffs the air like a weirdo, raises an eyebrow, and smiles at Tony. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Natasha’s just grinning like a kid on Christmas while Tony’s sputtering out excuses. “How’d you do that ?” she asks with a smile.

“It smells like oxytocin. I could hear his heart speed up too, and I can feel the heat from where blood is flowing.”

“Wow, talk about a gift and a curse,” Sam says with a laugh.

Matt smiles at them. “I really have to go, but I’ll be seeing you around,” he says.

“Oh my God, how many blind jokes have I missed?” Tony whines, slightly recovered from his earlier embarrassment.

Matt just smiles again and puts the helmet back on before heading to the elevator.

Over the next few weeks, Matt continues to withdraw from his life as a lawyer, but Steve still meets with him every week and assures the rest of the Avengers that he’s doing okay; that he just has to deal with one last criminal element in Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy leaves Nelson and Murdock, but Matt insists he’s okay. He just needs to stop the Hand, whoever that is. Daredevil is seen more and more frequently leading up to the kidnapping of people he’s saved that culminates in a battle royale on the roof of an abandoned building.

Elektra Natchios is buried.

Karen Page quits Nelson and Murdock.

Matt Murdock doesn’t go to church.