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Both of them knew the building was about to collapse.
Both of them had looked at each other aware of exactly what was going down in the other person’s mind:
I have to protect him.
This meant attacking each other, of course, so they would be the one on top and covering the other as everything went down.
Unfortunately for Frank, he didn't get the chance seeing as, before Matt could execute his plan to swipe at the knees, a piece of debris landed on Frank's head and instantly knocked him out.
“Oh, shit,” said Matt right before jumping onto Frank’s unconscious body to shield him from further assault from above. He had, after all, survived the demolition of a building -- what was one more?
He managed to stay awake throughout it all, but he was fairly certain he looked like a walking bruise once it was all said and done.
Still, with grunts and groans of effort, he cleared as much of the remains of the former warehouse off of himself and Frank as possible. His senses were askew, but he was fairly certain the two of them were the only living people still in the area. Dammit. Dammit.
Matt angled his head to Frank. For the most part, he was okay, but that hit to the head wasn’t anything to fuck around with.
He reached down, hefted Frank’s body over his shoulders, and started moving.
It wasn’t easy to walk ground-level in Hell’s Kitchen without attracting attention, even during the night. Matt knew there’d be a very serious conversation the next morning when Foggy saw the photos of Daredevil carrying a by-all-appearances dead Punisher around like a fucking gym bag.
He avoided people when possible.
Only one person got a picture, but Matt knew that was all the press needed.
He found a mostly empty apartment complex and walked right on inside, smiling at the little old lady lingering on the ground floor. She adjusted her glasses and waved, watching with no small amount of confusion as Matt walked to the elevators. “Do you, uh, mind pressing the up button for me?” Matt asked.
“Sure, dear,” she said and waddled over to punch said button a few times. “Are you really the devil?”
Matt adjusted Frank’s body a bit, grunting as it sent a wave a pain through his gut. Frank mumbled something incoherent. “No,” Matt replied, “I’m more of a lesser demon.”
She watched him, mouth agape, as he stepped into the elevator. Once the doors closed, he freed one hand and, as quickly as possible, pressed the number that he thought was the highest.
When the doors opened directly into roof access, Matt breathed a sigh of relief, stepped out of the elevator, and unceremoniously dropped Frank’s body before falling down with him.
The second he let his eyes close, the world left him.
Someone was kicking him.
Matt grumbled and swatted a lazy hand.
He got kicked again, harder this time.
“Ow,” said Matt, and that was an underreaction because he felt like his insides were burning from either the pain or the injuries. Maybe both.
He snapped his fingers once, twice, to help the world come into focus around him. Ah. Right. Rooftop. Daylight. Frank had apparently woken up.
“Ge’up,” the man himself slurred before careening to the side a bit. Frank stuck his arms out to balance himself only to fall on his ass anyway. Matt heard him sigh, then almost laughed as Frank accepted his floor-bound state and crawled over to Matt. “Ge… ge’up… sum’ing’s… I don…” His head dropped blearily, and Matt was officially concerned.
He blinked a few times, making sure no one else was on the roof. “Frank? Hey -- are you okay? You got hit in the head. Do you remember?”
Frank hummed. “D… derdehh… canh… my ‘ed…” He grabbed Matt’s arm suddenly and squeezed it. “Derdehh,” he repeated. He shook his head and snarled. “D- derdehh…”
“Daredevil?”
Frank winced, releasing his grip to put his hands at his ears. His jaw clenched, and his pulse started quickening.
Matt forced his body to a sitting position. Something was definitely wrong. “Frank -- you’re okay. I’m… I’m going to call a friend of mine, okay? We’ll get you somewhere safe.”
He started digging at his pants for the burner he kept on him these days. Just as he found it, it started vibrating with a call.
Matt answered it. Before he could get a word in edgewise, “Matthew Murdock, you horrible son of a bitch -- what the hell am I looking at? You’re on the front page of the goddamn newspaper with Frank. Castle. What are you doing with Frank Castle? And where the hell are you? I’ve been--”
“Foggy, I’ve got a problem.”
Frank’s head lifted at the name. “Fogh? Loy’e?”
“Could you possibly come here with a set of my civilian clothes and… and some shit for Frank?”
“He’s still with you?!”
“Yeah, um, I think he’s concussed? Like, bad? I’m not really sure, but he needs our help.”
Foggy huffed at him. “Fine. But this is because I like you, not him.”
“Trust me, I know. We’re at… I think it’s the Korson Apartments.”
“That shithole? Yikes.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to get here?”
Foggy shuffled around a bit, quiet as he pulled open a drawer. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He hung up, and Matt took a deep breath.
He pulled off his mask.
Frank’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Mah.” He tilted his head far enough that it became parallel to the floor. “Nice.”
“Nice?”
Frank nodded slowly. It was like he was on drugs with how slow his movements were. “Mah… Mah i’ ni’. Nice.”
“Uh… thanks?”
Frank’s eyes shut and his head started falling to the floor. Matt, with a small yelp, caught it before it did just that. He slapped Frank’s face a couple times until he sensed the man’s eyes open. “You gotta stay awake, okay?”
Frank sighed. “M’ed. Sum’ing’s…”
He spent the entire time waiting for Foggy trying to keep Frank conscious, much to the other man’s distaste. When Foggy did show up, it was to Frank’s head in Matt’s lap as Matt was in the middle of a small rant, “... because you already sound like your face went through a garbage disposal and I’m sure you don’t want that to be permanent, now do you? So stop whining at me and just--”
“Uh, Matt?”
Matt whipped his head around to face Foggy (Frank, too, tried to look, but his motions were both smaller and slower) who was holding up a bag.
“Thank you,” Matt said, offering a small smile. “Did you bring my cane?”
“Yeah. What’s going on there?” Foggy said, gesturing at Frank.
Frank blinked slowly. “I… m’ed… wrong.”
Matt pointed at Frank. “See? Concussion.”
“Well, shit,” said Foggy. “Was that even English?”
“I distinctly heard him say ‘wrong.’”
“Ba… aster’.”
“And I think that was ‘bastard.’ Frank, you’re going to need to stand up.”
Frank groaned, but still dragged himself from Matt’s lap so he was on the concrete in something akin to a pushup position. Matt, with much suffering, forced himself to a crouch before hooking an arm under Frank’s armpit. “Up on three, okay? One, two, three--”
They both gave their most valiant effort, and they both failed. Foggy, cursing, had to run over and prevent the two of them from falling backward and worsening their current states.
Matt could hear Foggy straining, so he adjusted himself as quickly as possible into a standing position. Frank was still half-falling backward, Foggy the only one preventing him from going completely down.
After a moment of listening to Foggy wheezing as he tried to hold up Frank’s entire body weight, Matt took pity, hooked his arm through Frank’s, and pulled him forward enough to relieve Foggy of the pressure. Frank immediately leaned into Matt with a small groan. Matt’s heart totally did not do a small flip at that.
“Now what the hell are we going to do?”
Frank attempted to right himself, his legs bowing out a bit like a newborn giraffe. Matt kept his hold on the man firm. “I’ll take him to my place and… and I’ll call Claire.”
“And what makes you think she’ll want to?”
“Well, I don’t know anyone he knows that can help him!”
Frank put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Ker… dis. Mmm.” His hand slid off. “Youl-ike ‘im. N- nice to… to…”
Matt grunted as Frank stumbled, an elbow catching Matt in the ribs. “What?”
“I think I heard ‘Curtis.’ And Matt -- are you hurt, too?” Foggy was frowning now, examining Matt critically.
Matt didn't answer, instead pointing at the bag Foggy brought. “Is that everything?”
“Yeah, just -- God, get changed quickly without hurting yourself. I’ll hold Frank.”
Thus they switched positions, and Frank mumbled something, reaching one hand after Matt. “Mah,” he said.
“That’s Matt,” Foggy answered.
“Mmm.” Frank tilted his head and smiled. “Nice… save… ‘d me. Nice.”
“Yeah, he’s a nice guy,” Foggy answered, his tone dropping to the one he used when talking to his clients’ children. Matt couldn’t help but smile as he changed as fast as possible (Foggy had brought Matt’s softest pair of sweats -- a true pal).
“Fogh,” said Frank.
“Yeah?”
“Your… par’ner’s…” he sighed, mouth hardening, “ha’.”
Foggy attempted to make sense of this. “‘Ha?’” he parroted. “As in… funny?”
Matt managed to pull his hoodie over his head. Once done, he pulled out a second hoodie from the bag -- likely meant for Frank -- and shoved his Daredevil uniform into the bag.
“No,” Frank said, glaring now. Matt almost laughed as Foggy swallowed, heart briefly picking up in fear. “Ha’.”
“You just said ‘ha’ again,” Foggy offered back in as soft a tone he could manage.
Frank closed his eyes. “Mmm. ‘D. Hod.”
Foggy blinked.
Matt lifted an eyebrow. “Hod?”
“Wait,” said Foggy, his breath catching slightly in his throat the way it usually did before he started laughing, “do you mean… hot?”
Frank nodded.
Cue Foggy’s laughter.
Heat washed all over Matt’s face.
Foggy laughed harder.
“Wha’s… funny?”
“Nothing,” Matt snapped. “Here -- put this on.” He thrust out the hoodie.
“Aw, you’re already sharing clothes!” said Foggy.
“Shut up, Fogs,” said Matt. “Let’s get back to the apartment.”
Getting there had been a bit of a feat. They got a few weird looks on the street, but people most likely just thought Frank was some really drunk dude getting help from his friends. The slurred words and frequent stumbles only amplified the effect.
Once they were settled at the apartment with Frank situated on the couch and Matt icing one of his many bruises, Matt asked Frank, “Do you have your phone?”
Ignoring the whole “hot” thing was necessary for Matt’s sanity at the moment.
Frank nodded. ‘I’ll… grab…” He reached into his pants, pulling out a small burner phone (Foggy scoffed -- “Do all vigilantes have burners?”) and holding it out to Matt.
Matt angled his head to Foggy. “You’re going to need to look through his contacts and see if there really is a Curtis.”
“Got it,” said Foggy, grabbing the phone and turning it on. It took a few seconds, but Matt heard Foggy’s heart rate pick up upon spotting the name. He started dialing.
“Frank?” said the person, Curtis, before continuing, “we missed you at group last night. Where’ve you been -- is everything okay?”
Foggy winced, probably feeling bad about the “group” thing (Was Frank an alcoholic? Matt didn't think so. It was probably for something else.) “I’m Foggy,” said Foggy, “and Frank’s hurt. He mentioned your name when we were trying to find someone who could help.”
There was a pause. “How bad is it?”
Foggy turned to Frank, who was staring tiredly at his intertwined hands. “I’m… not sure. It’s not exactly urgent but he needs help.”
“Mind giving me the address?”
Foggy looked at Matt, who nodded. Foggy rattled it off.
“All right. I’ll be there soon. Thank you for calling me.”
Foggy hung up and sighed. “What would you guys do without your sidekicks?”
Frank snorted. “No’ my… my si’kick.”
Matt moved the ice. It was already melting and, frankly, kind of useless given his state. He kept it for appearances -- Foggy would complain otherwise. “Is he a doctor?”
“Me’ic.” Frank shook his head. “Serve… i’ him.”
“You served together?”
“Mm.”
Conversation dwindled there, but Frank was starting to nod off again. Matt moved onto the couch next to him to keep him awake.
“Hur’?” Frank said, pointing at Matt.
Oh. He was starting to bleed through the clothes.
With a sigh, Matt tossed the ice on the coffee table. “Foggy, can you grab my supplies for stitches? They’re--”
“I know where they are. Are they for you or Frank?”
Matt took a whiff, sticking his nose in the air in dog-like fashion. Foggy tried to hold back a laugh. “Uh, both? Frank’s bleeding a bit, but I can’t tell if--”
The door opened.
Someone stepped inside, his footsteps slightly uneven because of the prosthetic leg. “Curtis?” Matt asked, and the man turned to look at him.
“You’re his lawyers,” said Curtis, his back straightening slightly. Cautiously. “Nelson and Murdock.”
“We were,” Foggy responded sharply, returning with the supplies. He set them down in front of Matt.
Curtis was eying Frank now. “Hey, Frank,” he said.
Frank looked up at him. “Hey.”
Curtis frowned. “You said he was hurt. I don’t--”
Frank sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning into Matt. Matt pushed him back upright. Frank hissed at him. “‘Or… lu’y ‘or… pre’y.”
Matt, unfortunately, was able to make sense of that: ‘You’re lucky you’re pretty.’
Foggy apparently had gotten good at understanding slurs (Matt did a lot of that when drunk at law school) and shook his head. “Your dumbass friend has a crush on mine.”
Curtis laughed slightly at that as he kneeled down to be eye-level with Frank, pulling out a small flashlight. “Unless Matt’s Daredevil, I doubt that.”
Both Matt and Foggy froze. Foggy looked at Matt. Matt was staring in the general direction of the box for stitches. Curtis, in the middle of examining one of Frank’s eyes, stopped to look at Matt. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
He could feel the ‘don’t bullshit me’ look Curtis gave him. “You know what I mean.”
“Frank likes Daredevil?” Foggy piped up unhelpfully.
With a disappointed sigh, Curtis looked back to Frank, clicking the flashlight a few times as he moved from eye to eye. Frank didn't make any comments. “He talks about the guy a lot, but he doesn’t admit to shit. Frank’s a stubborn bastard.”
“Another thing he and Matt have in common,” said Foggy.
“Another thing?” said Curtis, his tone carefully level. He was examining Frank’s head now, looking for the cut.
Matt grunted, using a hand to point at the ailing spot on Frank. “He was hit in the head by debris here. The cut isn’t bad, but…”
“How’d you know that?”
Matt shrugged. “I was there.”
So many people were going to know he was Daredevil. It was a wonder his identity was at all a secret.
“Why? Was he… wait, you can't be Daredevil. Are you Daredevil?”
“Yeah. And before you ask, I am really blind.”
“I wasn't going to ask that. How do you navigate like that?”
He took that… really well. “My, uh… other senses. They're extremely magnified.”
“'E’s goo’,” said Frank.
“Well, Frank here has a serious concussion. I'll make sure he gets everything he needs, but he can't be alone for a while otherwise he'll probably hurt himself. And not as the Punisher.” Curtis stood up. “I can— wait, are you hurt?”
“Yeah, I… a little bit.”
“How about you tell me exactly how these injuries happened and we’ll go from there.”
Matt grumbled under his breath but explained anyway.
By the time he was done, both Foggy and Curtis were shaking their heads.
“He’s supposed to be a responsible adult,” said Foggy.
“I’m still a good lawyer,” Matt shot back. He angled his head to Curtis. “Will Frank have permanent damage?”
Curtis sighed, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Even if he did, it wouldn’t be your fault. But, no. He won’t. Right now he’s just dissociating, but…” everyone’s attention flitted to Frank, who was back to staring blankly at his hands, “he’ll be fine. But the dissociations will probably make him… inclined to speak his mind when he’s actually with us.”
Matt nodded.
“We’ve noticed,” said Foggy.
“I’ll go ahead and start stitching you up, Matt. Mind lifting your shirt?”
Matt obliged, and Curtis began working at him as tenderly as possible. “You know,” the man said as he disinfected one particularly nasty gash, “he respects you. And his respect is hard to earn.”
Matt smiled stiffly. “I’m not so sure. We have… very different opinions on how to handle things.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Curtis, as if sensing that Frank was falling asleep, snapped his fingers in the man’s face. Frank shot back up, blinking. “He’s been working on his anger. You can ask him about it -- though preferably when he’s not… like this.”
Matt winced as the needle punctured his skin. “Ask him what, specifically?”
Curtis worked for a while, attention hyper-focused on the wound. “Has he killed anyone when he’s been on patrol with you?”
Matt shook his head. “I-- no. He hasn’t.”
Somewhere behind him, Foggy offered incredulously, “You two have been patrolling together regularly?”
“That’s something we’ve been talking about. Like I said -- ask him about it. I doubt he’ll give a straight answer, but he cares enough about you to try.”
“Cares a lot,” Foggy huffed.
Curtis grinned. “And considering you’ve been so willing to work with him, I’d almost say you feel the same way.”
“What? I didn't say-- I never--”
“I’ve talked to enough veterans in my lifetime to know that many of them can’t exactly talk,” said Curtis. “Frank is that way. So are you.”
“‘M talkin’ fine,” Frank interrupted.
“Uh huh,” said Curtis, bandaging Matt up, “sure you are. You said the same thing last time you were concussed this bad.”
“‘Ad was diff’en.”
“It really wasn’t, Frank.”
“Thanks for helping us out,” said Matt, fighting the grin on his face. “Especially on such short notice.”
Curtis clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Anything for a friend. And Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t be running around for a little while. Your bruised ribs are nothing to fuck around with, and you don’t want to ruin my hard work.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m serious.” Curtis was staring down Matt. “Don’t fuck up my work. You don’t want to see me when I’m mad.”
“Uhh… uh, yeah. Of course.” Matt’s smile came out in a grimace. “I promise I won’t run around.”
Curtis eyed him for a while longer, and Matt was starting to shift under his gaze. Even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel the goddamn holes Curtis was burning. “Good. I can take Frank back to my place for a while. Take off work.”
“No!” Matt said, a bit suddenly. Curtis lifted an eyebrow. “No-- I can do it. You don’t want me running around, so I’ll take care of him here. Besides, I’m pretty sure you do good work. You’re Curtis Hoyle, right?”
“I am.”
“Then you keep working. I can always do my own… day-job work here.”
“Fucking hell, Matt,” said Foggy. “Curtis was right.”
Matt glowered. “So what if he is?”
Foggy froze, obviously not anticipating that. “Oh, um. Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the office. Karen has a lot of questions about that newspaper photo.”
Foggy scuttled away.
Curtis chuckled. “Sure thing, Matt. Do you know what to do?”
Matt grinned. “You can write it down.”
Curtis snorted. “Funny. I’ll put instructions in Braille--”
“You know Braille?”
“I try to be as accessible to as many vets as possible. Now, both of you get some rest. And no dumb shit while either me or Foggy are gone.”
“Yessir,” Frank said groggily, offering a mock salute.
“Of course,” Matt said, nodding.
As soon as Curtis left, Matt read the note. Then he tapped Frank on the arm. Frank turned to him.
“I’m gonna let you take the bed,” said Matt. “I can help you there -- I don’t think your sense of balance is anything to brag about yet.”
“Fu’ you,” said Frank, but he still slung an arm around Matt’s shoulders and used him to drag himself to his feet.
It took a while to get there with Matt’s injuries and Frank’s poor attempt at walking, but eventually Frank was heaved onto the bed.
He immediately turned to one side and gripped at the sheets. “Sof,” he said.
“Yeah. Sensitive sense of touch,” said Matt. He ran a hand through his hair. “Curtis, uh… mentioned you get nightmares on the note. That your head injury may make it harder for you to… deal with it, I guess. Or at least communicate the problem.”
Frank hummed in affirmation, unperturbed by the fact Matt knew this about him. Huh.
“I can… I have really good hearing. I can sleep on the couch, and if you start to panic I--”
Frank reached a hand backward, striking Matt in the chest. Then he turned back over and grabbed Matt’s arm. “No,” he said. He closed his eyes firmly shut for a moment, as if considering how he could phrase his next words in a way that could be understood. So this was one of his more lucid moments. “S’ay,” he said.
Matt cocked his head. “Stay?”
Frank nodded.
“Oh.”
Frank was still holding his arm, and the grip tightened for a half-second. He was starting to get antsy.
“Sure. I’ll stay with you. Just don’t punch me in your sleep.”
Frank snorted and released Matt before shifting to the far side of the bed.
Matt took a breath before he got on himself. Nothing was going to happen -- he wasn’t going to try anything when Frank had a head injury, but he also couldn’t just… leave Frank when Frank wanted him to stay.
He wound himself into a tight ball as far away as possible from Frank. He would be here if Frank needed him. Besides, he’d done this before with Foggy -- back when Foggy started having panic attacks at law school, they slept in the same bed. It was a comforting thing, just like now.
Except Matt cared for Frank in a way he didn't feel for Foggy.
God, he hated his life.
He was wide awake for a while, even once Frank fell asleep. Then Frank mumbled in his sleep and shifted over, throwing an arm over Matt’s waist.
Matt’s body relaxed like a reflex, the breath he’d been holding released.
Frank’s forehead nuzzled into the back of Matt’s neck.
Matt fell asleep shortly after.