Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is weird,” Matt says, scrunching his nose. 

“Is it?” Frank asks, sipping his coffee and grimacing at the taste of it. Oh, what he would give for some proper coffee instead of this dark broth that vaguely smells like dishwater and tastes like mud. Yes. Frank does know what mud tastes like - even bloody mud - and he isn’t particularly glad about it, but his life is what it is. 

“You and me. Having breakfast like …” Matt shrugs. 

“Like normal people,” Frank finishes with an understanding nod. “Don’t think too much about it, Red. Just eat your eggs.”

Matt still looks tense. “Aren’t you worried anyone will recognize you?”

Frank snorts. He’s wearing a dumb I love New York cap that hides the bruises on his face a little, he grew a beard and his hair is longer now. “Nah. People don’t look that close.” He speaks out of experience. “I’m just Pete, Red.” 

Matt doesn’t look convinced. But he finally picks up his fork and reaches out, feeling for the plate on the table. Although Frank knows that Matt is a picky eater thanks to his sharpened senses, even the devil is a lot less picky after a busy night. Everything tastes better when your body is aching and urgently needs the energy food provides. 

Frank digs into his own pile of scrambled eggs. At least they are not as bad as the coffee. He dumps a ton of salt and pepper over them to make them more edible. 

Soft country music travels through the room. Outside the diner, it's raining. Frank and Matt eat in silence. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. They are just both tired, after a whole night of trying to find the warehouse in which a group of gangsters apparently forced some kids to produce fucking drugs. A lot of searching. A lot of assholes. A lot of bickering. So much bickering. 

Frank is not going to lie. The devil is annoying the hell out of him. But he still likes his company, especially in a fight. He can kill a little less people for Red. Sometimes. 

Steps approach. A waitress stops at their table, a full can of that awful coffee ready in her hand and a smile plastered on her face. “More coffee for you?” A certain twinkle enters her eyes as she adds, “Or maybe some pancakes to sweeten the mood?” She comes closer and whispers to Frank, “Trouble in paradise, hun?”

Matt stops chewing and frowns. His brows wander up until they hover over the edges of his glasses. 

Frank is already shaking with suppressed laughter. Just to mess with Matt, he whispers back, “Nah, just a long night, Ma’am. We’ll take the pancakes though, he’s a sweet tooth, you know?”

Matt coughs and makes a face. He looks like he bit into a lemon. 

The waitress laughs and nudges Frank with her shoulder. He has to keep himself from flinching. He’s bruised all over. “Pancakes it is. I’ll be back in a moment.” She pats Frank’s shoulder - this time he does flinch - and leaves with a happy bounce in her steps. 

“We are not a couple,” Matt mutters, his expression pained. 

“I don’t think she heard that, Red,” Frank says, huffing in amusement. He considers the rest of the coffee in his mug but decides that it's going to taste even worse when it's cold. 

“You are horrible,” Matt tells him. 

“Hey, you like pancakes, don’t you?” Frank asks, eating the rest of his eggs. 

“I do,” Matt admits quietly. 

The waitress arrives with the pancakes, beaming at Frank. “Here you go. I put some extra syrup on them. Enjoy.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Frank says. When she’s gone, he whispers to Matt, “Enjoy, sweetheart.”

Matt’s ears turn a lovely shade of red. “Shut up,” he hisses, but then he sniffs and tilts his head a little to the side, like a puppy that just smelled something amazing. His fingers find the plate with the pancakes quickly and Frank watches amused, as the devil hurriedly shoves a big heap of pancakes drowned in golden syrup into his mouth. “These are ridiculously sweet,” he says, after swallowing and licking his lips. He grimaces. "Too sweet."

Frank grins. “Yeah. Just like you.”

Matt kicks him under the table. “I’m never having breakfast with you again.”

Chapter Text

Matt gasps for breath as another violent coughing fit throws his head up from the pillows. 

It hurts. It hurts so much.

Everything itches and aches. The fever burns him from the inside while simultaneously cold sweat breaks out on his forehead, dripping from his face. 

The worst is that he doesn't have full access to his sense of smell and his hearing. His nose is stuffy, which makes it difficult to smell anything. There is a faint but constant rushing noise in his ears. He hates when something messes with his senses. He hates to be sick. 

Matt has no idea how much time he has already spent in bed, tossing and turning, the sheets clinging to him and his clothes feeling like too much. He just wants to sleep and get this over with. Alone. But apparently, it’s a bad idea, because the next time he has a moment of clarity, someone says, “You’re an idiot, Red.” 

He knows that voice. 

“Frank,” Matt rasps. How the hell does Frank Castle know where he lives? He suddenly wishes he had his glasses on. But he doesn't remember where he put them.

“Did you tell anyone you’re that sick, Red?” 

Matt tries to think. “No?” What does it matter anyway? Foggy hates him. Karen is disappointed. And Claire has done enough already. He didn't want to bother anyone. 

Frank sighs. “Of course not.” A hand on Matt’s soaring forehead. First, he wants to flinch away. But then - “Oh God,” he gasps, leaning into the touch. Frank’s big hand is so wonderfully cold. It’s the best thing Matt has felt in ages. When Frank’s hand twitches and starts to disappear, Matt can't help himself and reaches for it frantically. “No. No, don’t …”

“Shit, Red,” Frank says. “Tell me what I can do. Who I can call.”

Call? Surely it isn’t that bad … “Claire,” Matt gasps. 

“Did you save her number?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna call her, okay? Oh for God’s sake, stop moving … I’m not going to take my hand away, alright? Jesus.” 

Matt just hums, pressing Frank’s free hand to his forehead while Frank phones Claire. Matt doesn’t hear everything, but Frank says something about fever and deliriousness. “I’m not delirious,” Matt slurs, offended. “I’m super.”

“Sure you are, Red,” Frank says. “Can I have my hand back now? I’m gonna make some tea.”

“Tea?” Matt asks, dumbfounded. 

“Yeah. Tea. The thing where you heat up water and put a little bag into it that makes the water taste like something, you know?” Frank says, amused. 

Matt huffs out an annoyed sigh. He knows tea. He just finds the idea of Frank Castle making tea an interesting concept. It’s so domestic. He realizes he’s never experienced Frank doing everyday life. They only meet outside, on rooftops, in the cold, when Frank wants to kill someone and Matt wants to turn them in and they collide like two cars, neither of them willing to pull the brake. 

Frank’s hand is gone. Matt turns on his side and even that little movement causes the world to tilt like it was an ocean shaken by a storm. He feels dizzy and breathless.

But after a while of wheezing, coughing, and restless almost-sleep, Frank comes back and he indeed made tea. Matt can smell it. Frank puts the mug on the nighttable. “It’s Camomile. Let it cool down some,” he tells Matt. 

“Thank you,” Matt breathes. 

A pause. “Not for that, Red,” Frank then says. “Have you eaten anything?”

Matt frowns. He tries to remember, but the thoughts don’t make it through the thick fog that seems to fill his mind. “Don’t know.”

“Okay. I’ll make some chicken broth with toast, alright?” Frank says and suddenly, his voice sounds … sad. Like he’s remembering something. And then he quietly adds, “It always helped Frankie Jr. and Lisa.”

Matt realizes with a surge of pain, that Frank did this for his kids too. He suddenly feels like he’s breathing around a lump in his throat. 

Frank has had a family. He had a wife and kids. Surely, someone was sick in this household from time to time. And then Frank took care of them. Like … like he’s taking care of Matt right now. He feels so full of emotion. He wants to say something, but before he manages to, Frank is gone again. 

Matt breathes in the steam of the tea and feels sad for Frank. 

The apartment slowly starts to smell like soup. Eventually, Claire arrives. 

She starts to scold Matt the second she’s in his room. She also scolds Frank, who answers her questions with a calm, polite voice, always adding a “Ma’am”. He tells Matt he’s going to do the groceries, making sure there’s enough stuff for more tea and soup. Typical Flu food. 

Claire sits on the edge of the bed and takes Matt’s temperature. “Wow, he’s  …”

“Weirdly normal?” Matt breathes. It’s surreal, yes. Frank Castle, acting a lot like a …

“An overgrown mother hen,” Claire says and Matt can almost hear the smile spreading on her face. “Or a very considerate boyfriend.”

Matt coughs. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Why do so many people think that?! 

“Alright, alright,” Claire says, putting a wet towel on Matt’s forehead. “Calm down. I was just joking.”

Was she really? 

Matt realizes he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants to stop being sick, so he can get back outside, where people are suffering. Counting on him to protect them. “Claire … Please do something to stop this,” he begs. 

Claire huffs. “I’m not a wizard, you know? This is going to pass, but certainly not tonight. Nor tomorrow. I can give you something for the fever. But you just have to sweat it out, big guy.”

Matt sighs in defeat, slumping into his sweat-soaked pillows. 

“But hey, if I had someone like that friend of yours, taking care of me, making tea and soup and everything, I wouldn’t worry too much,” Claire says and chuckles. 

“Hm.” Matt won’t say it out loud, but she does have a point. It’s kind of nice, being taken care of. Maybe, he wonders, maybe Frank likes it too. A bit. Maybe, it makes him remember a side of him he thought he lost. Maybe, it helps him to feel less rage. Maybe. 

Chapter Text

Red is the most stubborn person Frank knows. He is also the most annoying person in Frank’s messed up life. 

Right now, Red is standing between him and the worthless asshole Frank is trying to kill. Again. Like last night. And the night before. 

Red is relentless. Just like Frank. Which should make them enemies. Not whatever else they are. 

Frank is not in a good mood tonight. He’s filled to the brim with memories, flashbacks, and the lyrics of a song he doesn’t want to think of. He is tired. He is angry. Hot rage roars inside him like an animal, demanding to be let out of its cage. 

But right when he was about to do just that, Red appeared and ruined it. 

The piece of shit Frank found is leaning against a wall, trying to breathe through his broken nose, and looks from Frank to Red and back with wide confused eyes. 

Frank sighs. “Jesus, Red. I’m trying to work here. Why don’t you go lurking on some other rooftop? There really are enough of them in this city! Now get out of my way.” 

“No.”

“Get out of my way, or I’ll make you.” 

“No, Frank. You are not going to kill this man. You don’t have the right to end his life. He could still say or do something important!” 

Frank scoffs. “Yeah, sure. Of course, this bastard, who forced women to sell his dirty drugs will totally save the children or something! You really believe that, Red? He’s scum. The world is gonna be better without him. Your city is gonna be safer without him. I'm doing you a favor. Now get out of my way.”

Red doesn’t budge. He stands there, with his arms crossed and his stupid little horns, shaking his head. “No. I am going to stay right here. I’m going to always be there to stop you, Frank. To stop you from yourself! You can’t kill the whole world, just because you are angry, Frank. Killing this man won’t change how you feel.”

Frank feels the violent need to hit something, instead, he grins. “You’re wrong, Red. I told you before. I’ll tell you again. I like this. I like killing assholes. I like how it makes me feel. It makes me happy to know they are gone forever! If you can’t deal with that, altar boy, why don’t you stop me, huh? You did it before. You can do it again. Come on. I know you want it too. I’m right here. Stop me.” 

Frank can see how Red is gritting his teeth and rolling his shoulders, how he's vibrating with energy under the facade of calmth.  

Frank is almost craving it. The promise of physical pain. Not a mindless, short tussle with some untrained thug, no, a proper fight. A fight that is going to distract him from everything that’s going on inside his head. A fight that can numb out the raging animal. 

But Red’s shoulders slump. He sighs and shakes his head. “No, Frank. I don’t want to fight you. I’m over that. We can find common ground. We did it before.”

Frank pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ. Red, if there was a prize for being the most annoying and most naive little shit ever, you would win them all.” 

"I'm not naive. I believe people can change if they get the chance. And I have faith. Some faith would do you good, Frank."

"Jesus. Of course. Do you think it would do me some good to believe the Easter Bunny is real, Red?" 

“Oh my God,” the guy they are fighting over suddenly groans, pressing a hand to his bleeding nose.  “You two sound like an old married couple.”

“Shut up!” Both Frank and Red yell at him.

The guy shrugs and leans his head back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "Sorry for interrupting," he mutters. 

“Hand him over to the police,” Red says, tilting his head back in Frank's direction. “But tell him what is going to happen, if he ever chooses to do something bad again.” 

“More work for me,” Frank states dryly. “What for? So that he can ruin the life of someone else before I finally put him down?”

“You don’t know that,” Red says, sounding desperate.

Frank wants to be angry. But he’s getting exhausted. He feels more astonished than he feels rage. Astonished, that Red doesn’t give up. That he’s still standing there, fighting for some piece of shit he doesn’t know. That he’s still thinking there might be some good in even this kind of guy. That he still has faith. 

It’s astonishing. And maybe, just maybe, Frank feels a hint of envy underneath all his annoyance. He sighs and turns away, gesturing with his unused gun. “You win, Red. Get him out of my sight. If we cross paths again, I’m going to paint the wall with his brain.” 

“Thank you, Frank,” Red says quietly. 

Frank scoffs. He leaves without a look back. Otherwise, he might have to explain the small smile spreading on his face. 

At least, the rage calmed down some.

After Frank leaves, Matt helps the injured criminal to get up. He's going to place the guy somewhere the police can pick him up. 

“Guess I have to thank you, for keeping your boyfriend from ending me,” the man says, still holding on to his bleeding nose. “He’s a very angry guy. But hey, love goes crazy ways ...”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Matt sighs. “But he’s really going to kill you if you ever do anything illegal again. And I’m not going to be there to keep him from doing it. Not again.” 

“Got it. Hey, is there any chance you’re gonna let me go? If I promise to be a really good boy from now on?” The criminal asks, sounding almost hopeful. 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that,” Matt says dryly. 

“I had to try, man,” the guy tells him. 

“Of course.” 

Matt tilts his head, listening to the sirens closing in. The night is almost over. He’s tired, but also glad. Glad, Frank didn’t kill anyone else. Maybe, Frank got some faith left in him. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Chapter Text

It starts as a whisper. 

Matt can’t help picking it up, when he’s crouching on a rooftop at night, listening to the city’s familiar pulse. 

“Is it true? Is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really shagging the freaking Punisher?” 

Matt’s breath hitches. He can feel his face heating up under his mask. What the hell? 

“I heard they are fighting and bickering like an old married couple.” 

“Even better. The Punisher refrained from killing some mob rat for the devil.” 

“True love, huh? A match made in hell.”

And they laugh.

Matt’s neck burns. He doesn’t know what to think. Or to feel.

The crude comments continue, floating between the usual mess of small talk, laughs, cries, and lies.

“Wonder if he keeps the costume on when they make sweet love.”

“I wonder if it turns the devil on when the Punisher spills blood and splatters brain.”

Matt wants to feel disgusted. He wants to go down there and yell at them. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he mutters to himself, scrunching his nose. 

Even if there would be more between them than careful reluctant companionship, it would be bound to end in a disaster.  

It’s not because Frank is a guy. It’s not even because Frank has less than questionable methods and refuses to give them up.

It’s that Matt doesn’t do relationships. He’s bad at it. It’s obvious. People leave him, because he makes them sad or angry or because he disappoints them. Something inside him must be broken. Damaged. Maybe it’s because there’s a constant battle going on inside his mind. A constant dance on the edge, between “emotions make you weak” and the pathetic craving for affection. 

Being with Matt is dangerous for people. The past has proven that. Some voice inside Matt tells him that Frank is dangerous enough when he’s by himself, but he ignores that. 

Instead, he tries to ignore the whispers mentioning Frank and searches for something else he can listen to. 

But no matter where he turns his head and his ears, his thoughts always wander back to Frank. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch. 

Matt hasn’t seen Frank for quite a while. Not since Matt convinced him to let that criminal live. 

He wonders if Frank is angry. The chances for that are very high. Because Frank is an angry person. Matt has never met an angrier person. And he knows where the anger is coming from. Understands the need to let this specific animal out of its cage. 

Matt just hopes Frank won’t go on a killing spree tonight. He’s exhausted and doesn’t feel like keeping the Punisher from painting the streets red.

The whispers continue. 

Matt hears them again the next night. And the night after. 

Rumors. Persistent rumours. 

Matt doesn’t think anyone would use these rumors to get to Frank until he walks into a trap and someone manages to hit his head with a pipe hard enough to knock him out. 

Matt wakes up slowly. His head is pounding and there is pressure on his ears. His thoughts are slow-moving. He feels like has to swim up to the surface of a swamp. He can smell blood and can feel where his hair is crusted and itching, sticking to his skin.

“Look who’s waking up,” a voice says. A guy’s voice. Matt can hear a grin in it. Fingers grip Matt’s hair and force his head up. The fingers are disgusting. They are greasy and smell like their owner gutted a fish not that long ago. Matt decides to call the guy Fish-fingers. There’s someone else too. Another guy, who lurks in the background, smoking a cigarette. 

This is bad, Matt thinks. He can feel more now. Can feel the chair his arms and ankles are tied to with ropes. Can feel how the restraints are cutting into his flesh. He can sense that he’s in some kind of basement. There are windows, but almost no sound is coming in from outside, which means they have to be in a very remote area. At least, his captors don’t seem to be interested in killing him just now.

Matt tells himself not to panic. He can hear Stick’s voice in his mind, calling him stupid and careless. Matt shoves the meaningless echo of the past aside and instead focuses on how he might escape. He tries to subtly move his bound limbs while also working on distracting his captors. “Look, whatever your problem is, I’m sure we can talk about it. I have connections. I can -”

“You want to know my problem? The Punisher is my freaking problem. It’s not safe to do business out there as long as he’s prowling through the city,” Fish-fingers snarls. He releases Matt’s hair and starts to pace. “He has to go.” 

Matt sighs. He should have known this is about Frank. Somehow, everything has been about Frank lately. “It’s not safe? The city is not safe because of guys like you . The Punisher is a product of crime and corruption.”

Fish-fingers scoffs. “Whatever. The Punisher breaks the rules. Because believe it or not, there are rules to this game. The rules keep things from spiraling into chaos and war. We may be criminals, but we are not monsters. Have you seen what the Punisher does to people? I have seen it. I have seen the heaps of bodies, the rivers of blood. My cousin’s brother’s brain all over the floor.” 

Matt doesn’t say anything. But he knows there’s truth in these words. Frank did bathe the city in blood. He did kill without mercy. Without remorse. But lately, he has been holding back. He let Matt bring the criminals to justice. He listens to Matt. At least sometimes. 

He winces when Fish-fingers’ breath is right in front of him. “Rumours have it that you and the Punisher are close. Close as in you know each other naked. Is that true, devil?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Matt sighs. He’s been saying that a lot lately. 

“I heard different,” Fish-fingers says. “If at least a little of what I heard is true, I think you will make great bait. But I want to see your face before I off you in front of him. Want to see if you’re pretty.” 

Fingers brush over his mask.

No …

Matt turns his head away, but it’s no use. 

The mask is pulled off his face in one single movement. 

There’s a low whistle and a chuckle. “Yeah. I can see why he likes you. You’re very cute. But what’s wrong with your eyes, huh?” 

“I think he’s blind, man,” Cigarette-guy says, sounding astonished. 

Fish-fingers scoffs. “Bullshit. You think a blind man can do the things he does all night? Jumping from roof to roof and doing martial arts like Bruce fucking Lee? Are you stupid?”

Matt mentally rolls his eyes. He would be rich if he would get money every time someone says a blind person can’t do things. 

The sound of shots being fired outside makes Matt flinch and Fish-fingers curse. Frank. Like always, he’s fast. Faster than anyone anticipated.

Fish-fingers moves behind Matt, pulling out a knife and pressing it to Matt’s throat. “I think your boyfriend is coming to your rescue.”

“You have no idea,” Matt says miserably. “He’s here to kill you all.” 

The knife digs into the soft flesh right under his jaw. “I don’t think so. I have leverage.” 

Matt almost wants to laugh. Does this guy really think Frank is going to let this stop him? 

All too soon, there’s silence, and Frank’s familiar heavy steps approach the basement slowly. They stop. The smell of gun oil and leather floats through the room. It makes Matt feel warm in a way that surprises him. It’s the warmth of I’m safe .

“Drop the knife,” Frank’s gravel voice snarls.

“Nah. Drop your weapon, before I slit his throat,” Fish-fingers says. He tries his best to sound tough and unaffected, but Matt can hear the tremble of fear in his voice and can feel how unsteady his hand becomes. Unsteady and sweaty. Matt involuntarily imagines what Frank might look like, his clothes probably soaked with blood and his gun smoking. His face a mask of rage. A figure out of a nightmare. 

Nothing happens.

“I will do it,” Fish-fingers warns. 

Bang.

Matt grimaces when he feels Fish-fingers's body slump against him, feels fresh hot blood soaking his clothes.

Cigarette-guy yells something. 

Bang. 

Another body slumps. 

Silence.

“Fucking assholes,” Frank growls. There’s a dull sound and Matt realizes Frank just kicked Cigarette-guy’s body. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” he mutters. 

“Yeah. Could have let him slit your throat, huh?” Frank says. He cuts the ropes and pushes Fish-fingers away. “You need a shower, Red.”

“Because of you,” Matt says. He sways a little, his head still pounding. He probably has a concussion. 

“Hey. I saved you. Don’t be an ungrateful brat,” Frank tells him. “I’m gonna get you home now.”

Is that a hint of concern in his voice? 

“How did you even know where to search?” Matt mutters, reaching out and putting a hand on Frank’s elbow, letting him lead them out of the basement. 

He can feel Frank shrug. “I told you. I’ll always find you. Besides, the street talks. You just have to listen. But you know that, don’t you?”

Matt sighs. “Yes. The street talks. The street insists that you’re my boyfriend.”

“Am I?” Frank asks and Matt can hear his grin. 

“No. You are a pain in my ass,” Matt says dryly and Frank coughs out a laugh. 

“Well. They say teasing is a sign of affection, Red.”

“Shut up, Frank,” Matt says tiredly.

Chapter Text

“I swear to God, Karen. Matt Murdock is going to drive me insane one day. Or maybe, I already am and this is some kind of messed-up daydream. Jesus. I wish it was like that,” Foggy says, pacing the room and clinging to his phone, telling an unfortunate Karen about what he just had to witness with his own poor eyes. 

All he wanted to do was to pay his best friend a visit and bring him some of his mother’s plum cake. Because Foggy thinks that Matt doesn’t eat enough cake. Would Matt eat more cake, he might take life a little less seriously from time to time. 

Of course, Foggy is aware how sensitive Matt’s taste buds are. He knows Matt can’t stomach cheap cake from the bakery around the corner. But he also knows that Matt loves almost everything Foggy’s mother makes. So he told her to pack a good big piece of that cake and he walked to Matt’s apartment with a big smile on his face. 

When he let himself in because that’s never been a problem - Matt knows who’s coming anyway - and heard Matt calling his name in a kind of mildly startled way, he expected a lot of things. A lot of which already happened. What he didn’t expect at all was the sight of Frank fucking Castle aka the Punisher, bending over a half-naked Matt on the couch. They were close. Very close. Matt’s hand was on Castle’s arm. It looked like they were about to rip each other’s clothes off. 

Foggy blinked.

He blinked, then he called out, “Jesus on a toast!” and ran. 

Yes. He ran. He ran through the rain like an idiot, not caring about the looks people gave him.

Because he was overwhelmed and couldn’t process what he just saw. Only when he stopped, slightly breathless, he looked down at the crumpled cake in his hands and called himself an idiot, because what if Matt was actually in terrible danger? 

He didn’t look like he was in danger, a voice told him. No. He definitely didn’t look distressed. Didn’t sound like it either. 

Foggy shook his head. He knew that Matt wasn’t entirely straight. But … The Punisher?! No way. He had to tell someone. 

He hurried home and called Karen.

Now he can’t keep still and Karen tells him over and over again that he has to calm down, but he just can’t.

“It was the freaking Punisher. Frank fucking Castle. Can you believe that? Can you? Yes. Yes, I know! I know I need to breathe. I’m just having a hard time breathing while my best friend is apparently sleeping with the most dangerous killer this city has ever seen!” 

Foggy stumbles over something on the floor and he curses, bending over to pick up the book. When he straightens up, Matt is standing right in front of him. 

“Jesus! Matt!” Foggy gasps and clutches his chest, dropping the phone. “Why?!”

Matt is dripping water on the floor. He looks like a watered poodle. “I’m not sleeping with Frank.”

“Oh. Great. Did you come here and almost gave me a heart attack just to tell me that?” Foggy asks incredulously. 

“You ran away, Foggy,” Matt says. 

Foggy throws his hands up in exasperation. “I did! Because it looked like you two were rather busy!” 

“We weren’t. Frank was just taking a look at my injuries.”

“Your injuries. Of course. What did you do? Let me guess. Some criminal organization managed to kidnap you and Frank had to get you out, killing everyone in the process.”

Matt frowns. “That’s … Pretty much what happened,” he says, sounding mildly surprised. 

“Well. I know you,” Foggy says dryly, picking up the phone - and poor Karen, who’s yelling something that sounds a lot like curses a sailor would be proud of. “I know you well enough. Hey, Karen. Sorry. Matt decided to play cat again. Yeah. Of course. Oh, I will tell him, don’t worry. Bye. See you.” 

Foggy puts the phone away with a sigh. He looks at Matt, who does his head tilt thing, and asks, “You heard every word, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to repeat them,” Foggy mutters. He turns away and fetches a towel from the bathroom for Matt. When Foggy comes back, Matt is still standing there, still dripping. A puddle is forming around his feet. His hair clings to his skin. 

Foggy hands him the towel. “You don’t have to get a cold to punish yourself for startling the heck out of me, you know,” he says dryly. “I’m just telling you, in case it was something you thought about.”

Matt sniffs. “When you came, you had cake.”

Foggy’s lips twitch. “Yeah. I brought you a big piece of my mum’s plum cake. Thought it might cheer you up. I still have it. It’s just a little crumpled. Because I squished it when I saw you with the Punisher.” 

Matt nods. He doesn’t say anything. But he sniffs again. 

Foggy sighs. “I’ll get you some clothes and then we’ll eat cake, okay?” Ever since he found out about Matt’s nighttime activities, Foggy has started to stash exchange clothes for Matt in his drawer. Just in case Matt would come to him in the middle of the night, bloody and hunted. 

After all of this unwanted flurry, Foggy urgently needs some cake himself. 

“You let Frank Castle patch you up,” he clarifies, when they finally sit at the table and he can dig his fork into some plum cake. “The Punisher. You let him into your apartment, you let him touch you when you are injured and vulnerable. You let him into your apartment. Matt. Why?!”

Matt shrugs and swallows down a piece of cake. “When he’s busy helping me, he’s not killing people.”

“Wow,” Foggy says, slowly shaking his head. “That’s the only reason? Tell me, Matt. Did he kill someone when he saved you?”

Silence.

“Did he?” Foggy urges. 

“Yes,” Matt mutters, pushing another piece of cake into his mouth. Foggy can see that his lip is split and that a gauze pad is hiding a wound on his head.

“Of course he did. Because that’s what he does! He’s dangerous, Matt.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you? Jesus, Matt. You know what, if you two are such great friends, why don’t you ask him if he wants to eat some cake too? Yes. Let’s sit down with the Punisher, eat some cake, have a chat … Because there’s nothing wrong anymore with letting a murderer into your home and let him touch you and …”

“I can call him,” Matt says, his expression completely serious. “Then he can tell you, that I’m telling you the truth. And he can tell you that he’s not going to hurt me, or you, or Karen. He’s not going to lay a finger on anyone close to me. He and I, we have an understanding. Sort of. I kept him from killing someone, Foggy.” He sounds eager. Almost like he thinks he can fix Frank Castle. Which is kind of ironic, since he should work on fixing himself first. 

Foggy feels the ridiculous urge to laugh. How is this his life? He makes a vague hand gesture. “Sure. Why not. Call him. He’s not going to come …”

Half an hour later, Foggy stares at the Punisher, and Castle stares back. It kind of feels like a staring match at school. Only that school kids usually don’t know how to kill you in like a hundred variations. 

“You have questions, Nelson,” Castle eventually says, not looking away. “Ask them.”

Foggy swallows. His mouth is dry. He can’t get a word out. Which … Is unusual. 

Matt clears his throat. “I’m going to get some air,” he says. 

“What?” Foggy asks, stunned. 

“It’s alright, Fog,” Matt says, patting his back. “You feel embarrassed because I’m here. I get that. I am not going to listen. Just talk to him, alright?” And he climbs out of the window. Just like that. 

Foggy shakes his head. 

Castle snorts. “Like a freaking cat, right?”

Good Lord. He sounds … fond. 

“Who is Matt to you?” Foggy blurts out. 

Castle shrugs. “He’s Red. A major pain in my ass. Most nights, I want to kick him off a roof.”

Foggy blinks. He’s speechless. And feels a little lightheaded. 

“But,” Castle adds. “I also like his company. Even though all that blabber about God and faith really gets on your nerves. He grew on me, I guess. And I have no problems exchanging favors. He helped me, I help him, alright? You got any problems with that, Nelson?”

“I’m just worried for my friend,” Foggy says quietly. 

Castle nods. “I get that. And it makes you a good friend. Red is glad to have you. But he’s a complicated man, you know? He got a certain kind of hunger inside of him. One that only can be stilled by going outside, doing something, getting to work, you know what I mean? It’s not so far from what I am doing.” 

“Except Matt doesn’t kill people,” Foggy points out with a glare. 

“Yeah. That’s right. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to. That’s what I am here for,” Castle says. Like always, there’s not a hint of remorse in his voice. He sounds like he’s talking about facts. 

“Is it true that you saved Matt?” Foggy asks. 

“Yeah. Some assholes wanted to use him to get to me,” Castle says, his eyes cold. “They won’t try again. Guess why.”

Foggy swallows. Something inside him, a part he can’t deny, thinks that’s good. It’s good they don’t have to worry about these people anymore. He’s seen the system fail so often. But the other part of him wants to continue believing that it’s people like him and Matt who can make a difference. Who can make the system work better. Nothing is perfect. But everything can be made better. With some effort.  

“I won’t ever endorse murder,” Foggy says seriously, still looking right into Castle’s eyes. “I won’t ever think that what you do is right. But I accept that you are not a danger to Matt or me or Karen. I accept that I’m going to see you sometimes. Maybe even at Matt’s apartment. But I promise you, if I ever get so much as a whiff that you become bad for Matt, I am going to take care you’ll be put away for good, understood?”

Castle smiles. Foggy almost expects to be punched or something, already kind of regretting his bold speech, but Castle just says, “Understood, Nelson,” and gets up. “You’ve got balls. For a lawyer, I mean. Keep up the good work,” he adds. Then, he leaves, with his heavy steps and sure posture. 

Foggy stares after him, completely dumbfounded. He didn’t expect this talk to go like this. 

He stares until suddenly, Matt’s voice asks, “How did it go?” right behind him and Foggy gets another scare that makes him jump up and yell, “Jesus on a toast!” 

Chapter Text

“Frank?” Matt asks, opening the door to his apartment. He frowns. “Frank, why is there a dog in my apartment?”

The dog in question makes a delighted noise and starts to rub himself against Matt’s legs. Matt scrunches his nose up. He isn’t a big fan of dogs. They can be sensory hell with their barking, their scent, and their habit of trying to lick everything they can reach with their tongues. At the same time, dogs are loyal and cuddly. You can get attached to them. Attachment is dangerous.

“Frank,” Matt repeats. 

“Sorry, Red,” Frank calls from the bathroom. The bitterness of alcohol lays in the air. It mixes with a hint of blood and metal. Frank is stitching himself up again. Great. “I didn’t know where else to take him. Found him when I was going after some mob assholes. He was chained to the wall and tried to eat a damn rat.”

“Oh.” Matt grimaces. That’s where the smell is coming from. “He can’t stay.”

“You don’t like dogs, Red?”

“Not always,” Matt mumbles. 

“Sure. More of a cat person, are you?”

“Cats are quiet,” Matt mutters, reaching down to pat the dog. Maybe he’ll go away if he gets what he’s waiting for. “And independent.”

“Just like you, huh,” Frank teases. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get him to a shelter tomorrow.” 

Matt hums. He wishes the dog would leave him alone long enough so he can get to his more comfortable clothes. 

When he is finally able to sit on his couch, the dog jumps up and lays his head on Matt’s knee with a satisfied huff. Matt sighs. “You are clingy,” he mutters but starts to pet the dog anyway. He’s kind of cute. Matt does have to admit that. At least, he doesn’t smell like rat anymore. Frank gave him a quick bath and fed him some sausage.

Frank is still busy in the bathroom. Matt can smell antiseptic. Apparently, Frank was shot. When he finally emerges, he chuckles. “Cute. Mind if I crash here tonight, Red?”

Matt shrugs. “Make yourself at home.” 

It’s nothing new. 

It’s also nothing new that Frank takes the bed and Matt joins him later. It’s big enough. 

What’s new is the dog that decides to sleep on the bed too. 

Matt frowns. “No.”

“Come on, Red. Let him be. It’s just one night.”

“Everything is going to smell like dog.”

“I’m going to take care of that.”

Matt sighs. “Fine. One night.”

He should have known better. Should have known it wouldn’t be only one night … 

It wasn’t just one night with Frank either. 

“Wow, you two already adopted a dog? That was fast,” Foggy says. He laughs when the dog jumps him and wags his tail, begging for attention.

Matt frowns. “We didn’t adopt it. Frank found him. But he’s going to bring him to a shelter tomorrow.”

Foggy hums. He sounds doubtful. “Is he? Because there’s a fluffy dog bed beside your couch. And there’s a leash on your couch table. And oh, there’s even a cute water bowl on the floor. It is red and has a little white bone on it. Wow. Looks like this dog is at home.”

“No.”

“Do you have a name yet? I have some suggestions.”

“No! It’s not my …”

“Call him Punisher Junior. Or Frankie. Or …”

“Foggy. Stop. He’s not going to stay.”

“You said that about Frank too.”

“Frank doesn’t live here.”

“His toothbrush is in your bathroom. He lives here.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Counter question: You do know that you are wearing one of Frank’s shirts, right?”

Max is a smart dog. He never tugs at his leash when Matt is taking him for a walk. He never tries to run after a pigeon or barks at some other dog. 

He preserves those things for Frank.

Everyone loves Max. Karen included. Matt is meeting with her for a cup of coffee. He’s meeting with her because there’s something he needs to tell her. Something he needs help with. Something that nags at him.

“Aw,” Karen says when Matt arrives at the café. “My boys.”

Max wags his tail wildly and licks her chin when she crouches to pet him. She laughs.

Matt clears his throat. “This dog gets all the attention.”

Karen chuckles. She gives Matt a peck on both cheeks, making him smile. 

The café Karen chose is good. It has a menu in braille and the music isn’t too loud. It’s also not crowded. Matt likes the scent inside. Earthy coffee and a hint of thyme. 

“So,” Karen says when they sit down and Max lays under Matt’s chair. “Tell me everything.”

Matt feels his face heating up. He clears his throat and taps his fingers on the table in a random rhythm. “I, um, I need your help with something.”

“Okay,” Karen says calmly. She waits. 

Matt has never been great with words. Well. He’s great with them at court, where he can play a role and use pre-learned structures. But he’s bad with words when he has to talk about himself. 

Fortunately, Karen is patient. 

Finally, Matt blurts out, “I think I want to kiss Frank.”

He almost expects Karen to be startled. Or horrified. But she stays calm and says, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Matt repeats.

“Yes. Okay. Matt, everyone already thinks you are a couple. You know that, don’t you? You two are basically living together. With a dog. If you think you are going to shock anyone …”

“But I’ve been telling everyone that we are not together,” Matt says. “I always told myself we are just friends when we have to. But now … I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you feel comfortable when he’s with you? Safe?” Karen asks. 

“Yes.” 

“Then I don’t see the problem, Matt.”

“He’s a murderer,” Matt mutters. “He doesn’t feel any remorse.”

“He is. But you knew that before you started to spend that much time with him,” Karen points out.

“I don’t even know if he … if he feels like I do. If he’d want such a thing. If he’d want …”

If he’d want someone like me , isn’t what he says out loud. 

Karen reaches out and covers Matt’s hand with hers. “I can only tell you this. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. If Frank makes you happy, then it is what it is. I’m not going to tell you to stay away from him. You know what you are doing. If you two are good for each other, just act based on what you feel.” 

Matt nods, feeling lighter. “Thank you, Karen.” 

He can sense her smile. “Always.”

Frank is making something that smells delicious when Matt returns home. 

“What is that?” Matt asks, inhaling the air greedily. 

Frank chuckles. “French Onion Soup. Don’t get on the couch with your dirty paws, Max.”

Matt can hear Max whining, but then the dog goes to the mat they have and starts to rub his paws on it. It’s amazing how fast Frank teaches him tricks. 

“You hungry, Red?” Frank asks. 

“Now I am,” Matt says, putting his cane and jacket away. He approaches Frank hesitantly. “I, um, I wanted to try something.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, stopping his movements. “What’s that?” 

Matt swallows down the nervousness that tries to overwhelm him. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “I … I want to kiss you. If that’s alright. If you … If you let me.” 

Frank is silent for a moment. Just breathing. 

Matt almost stops breathing. Maybe, he destroyed everything, he thinks with a hint of sadness. 

But then, Frank says, “You can. You can kiss me, Red.”

Matt inhales shakily. He steps forward, raising his hands to seek out Frank’s face. He runs his fingers over stubbly cheeks, and carefully outlines Frank’s nose and ears. Finally, he cups Frank’s face and takes a deep breath. Frank’s heart beats faster. 

Matt leans forward and kisses Frank on the mouth carefully. Warm. Surprisingly soft. But mostly, warm. 

It feels nice. 

“Can I touch you too?” Frank asks hoarsely when Matt breaks contact. Matt nods. Frank’s hands cup his own face. “Damn, Red,” Frank whispers. And kisses Matt back. 

This time, it’s a bit more insistent. Heated. Passionate. Matt feels warm everywhere. He hums into Frank’s mouth and one of Frank’s hands finds the back of his head, fingers running through his hair, tugging lightly at them. Frank’s teeth are scraping his lips and their noses touch lightly. 

Frank is breathing fast when they stop. 

“This was nice,” Matt says. 

“Yeah. You want to do it again?” Frank asks. 

“God yes,” Matt says. 

They kiss again.

"The soup," they both say when they part next time and hear a telltale bubbling and sizzling noise behind them.

Matt is kind of bored. Nothing about this situation is new. Or original. 

He licks his split lip and sighs, waiting. 

He’s sure he doesn’t have to wait long. 

The criminal who decided to kidnap him this time grips him by his hair and forces his head up. Matt grimaces but doesn’t make a sound. 

“Do you think your boyfriend is going to come to get you?” The guy sneers. “Or maybe he doesn’t care enough about you and he’s just going to sit by while I cut your pretty face up, huh?”

Matt sighs. “My boyfriend is already here. Ready to take you out.

The criminal opens his mouth - and slumps when Frank appears behind him and hits him with something blunt. Maybe the handle of his gun. 

“Hey, Red,” Frank says. 

“Took you long enough,” Matt says, rolling his shoulders and waiting for Frank to cut him loose. “I was getting bored.”

“Yeah? Can’t have that,” Frank mutters. He kicks the criminal and Matt can tell the beast raging inside Frank’s head wants to finish the job. It craves blood. Always craves it. 

He puts his hand on Frank’s face and kisses him. 

“Don’t waste your time on him,” he tells Frank after. “Let’s go home.”

Frank chuckles. He takes Matt’s hand. “Altar boy.”

“You like it.”

“I do. Let’s go home. But don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, Red.”

Matt grins. “I’m counting on it.”

They go home, while the criminal underworld whispers, sharing more rumors about The Devil Of Hell’s Kitchen and The Punisher. 

A match made in hell. A match no one wants to mess with.