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Frank Castle felt at home in his grief. He could remember life before it but was too aware he’d never know that comfort again. Frank made peace with that the moment the last man involved in his family's death was nothing but blood and broken bones in the street.
He picked himself up and dove into a life he could live, not happily, but live. He provided himself the bare minimum, enough to eat to keep his strength, enough sleep not to keel over as he worked. He only smiled in his dreams, however brief they were before the nightmares settled in. He felt at home in his grief because he believed he deserved it.
Matt Murdock felt drowned by his grief. The hole his father's death had left in his heart had never truly healed, but eventually, he found people to help patch it. He carved out space for Foggy, for Karen. He trusted them to make him feel whole again. But he hadn’t intended to carve a space for Elektra. Her death didn’t just leave him with a hole in his heart, she took the whole heart with her.
So Matt drowned. He grieved for Ellie. He mourned for Nelson and Murdock. He screamed, he cried, damned God, and then dragged himself to church to beg. He didn’t know what he begged for, but lord did he beg. God offered him nothing in return.
He did the only thing he could, he threw himself into his nightly work. He pulled fewer punches, allowing himself to be sloppy. At least when the men he fought hit him he felt something.
He didn’t call Claire. He told himself he could patch himself up well enough. He didn’t acknowledge that he couldn't risk looking her in the eye, she would see right through him. The more hits he took the longer it took him to get up, but he never stayed down. He wouldn't disrespect his father's memory like that and knew Elektra would admonish him for it. So he got up.
Matt would have died that night without Frank. Most nights he thought he might have preferred it that way.
Matt might have died again, too focused on the dealer in front of him and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears to hear the second man behind him. He wasn’t too far gone to hear the bullet that whizzed past his head. Matt dropped to his knees, twisting as he fell and saw the outline of the man hit the ground.
“Fuck-” He turned to the dealer he’d been using as his daily penance and knew even as he lept at him he wouldn't be fast enough to stop the bullet that downed him before the man could finish his sentence.
Matt's breath tore through him as he extended his senses. He knew what to search for, a steady heartbeat, even breath. It took him a moment to zero in. He felt his anger rising when he realized it was the roof of his apartment building a couple of blocks south. He ran, climbing up to the rooftops using the fire escape. He could hear the disassembling of the rifle before he could smell the gunpowder. He focused on the heartbeat, letting it drown everything out.
“What the fuck was that Castle?” Matt called, jumping onto the rooftop where Frank was lounging. His heart stayed steady but he let out a huff of annoyance.
“That was saving your life, Red,” Frank responded, pushing off the ground to pack up his sniper. Matt's world burned brighter, rage swelling in him.
“How many times do I have to tell you? You have no right!” Matt growled, getting close enough to shove Frank. He hardly moved, which made Matt's anger turn from flames to an inferno. He could feel Frank rising to the challenge.
“Fuck off, Red. You can’t tell me you knew that guy was coming at you from behind. You’re getting sloppy.” Frank returned a pointed finger to the chest. Matt could hear the slight uptick of his heart, barely there but he’d been listening closely. He wanted to push, wanted Frank to lash out more. Matt crowded further into his space, barely leaving room as he grabbed the straps of Frank's vest.
“I don’t need you swooping in to save me.” He said through gritted teeth. He threw his weight into a jab, landing a hard hit to the side of Frank's face. Frank only stumbled back a step before bringing a fist around fast, nearly knocking Matt off his feet.
“Better than leaving you dead in the fucking street,” Frank said with venom in his voice. “It’s all fun and games to put on your fucking pajamas and go play hero but who are you helping if you're bleeding out in an alley, huh Red?” Frank had grabbed the front of Matt’s suit and hoisted him back to his feet.
Once he could take a full breath Matt titled into the attack, grappling with Frank till both their feet left the ground. With some effort he landed on top, trying to pin Frank below him. He tried to retort but he couldn’t find words in anger.
Frank all too easily took control, using his legs to flip Matt off of him. With a roll he climbed on top, pressing Matt's face into the rooftop.
“What is it, Red? You tell me why you’re out here acting like you ain’t got a life to live come morning.” Frank said, pressing hard into Matt’s back to keep him from moving beneath him. Matt practically growled, trying to pull his arms free but Frank had them pinned hard behind his back.
“Just fucking hit me.” Matt managed to yell, testing every line of his body but finding Frank overwhelming him. His anger didn’t cool but started to dissolve into a wet burning. He could feel his eyes stinging with tears. Frank leaned down, pressing harder.
“Is that what you want? I figured you for a masochist but not stupid, Red, and not suicidal either.” Frank said darkly, close to Matt’s ear. He wanted to yell, wanted to throw Frank off the goddamn roof but the pain in his chest was overwhelming. He felt Frank easing up on him when his body betrayed him by letting out a broken gasp. He knew it sounded pathetic but he couldn't control the swell of emotions.
“Fuck you, Frank.” Matt sobbed. For a moment he thought Frank would let him up. It took a moment before a strong arm was wrapping around his throat. Frank pulled him back to his feet, chest pressed against his back. The hold gave him control over where Matt’s feet went.
“C’mon Red, you’re done.” He said, stopping briefly to swing his duffle bag over his free shoulder. Matt tried to bring himself to break the hold but could barely breathe. Frank wasn’t even cutting off his airflow but his chest shook unevenly as he gasped for air. He vaguely heard the metal slam of Frank kicking in the rooftop access door. He could smell the comforting scents of home but only underneath Frank's scent.
Matt's hands were gripping desperately at Frank’s forearm and would have left angry red scratches had he not still been wearing his gloves. He fought to ground himself, desperately trying to cling to his surroundings but Frank drowned it all out.
Matt was briefly aware of the sound of water before Frank ripped off his mask. Before he could form a question he was shoved under the flow of warm water. The pounding spray against his face caught him by surprise. Soon everything was Frank. The steam in the air was heavy with his scent, and the vibrations of his chest rippled through Matt's skin, his words strong but soothing.
“Gotta calm down, Red,” Frank repeated over and over until Matt had control of his breath. Frank's hands moved from pinning him to holding him, one hand over his heart, the other around his waist. “Breath, just like me, nice and slow.” His voice filled the small space and Matt listened, because what else could he do? He focused hard on the sound and feel of Frank’s steady breaths. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for a moment, and then slowly exhale. He started to feel his pulse slow as he continued copying Frank.
His world still burned too bright to see but he allowed himself to be lost in Frank. He was vaguely aware of his armor being stripped away, replaced by the patter of water on his skin. His gloves and shirt fell to the bottom of the tub with wet slaps. Matt tried to take in his surroundings. Bathroom, they were in his shower. The gentle smell of the soap he used clung to the air. His chest was bare and he could feel the wet cling of Frank's shirt, it was the only thing that separated their bodies. He focused on Frank’s voice and the rumble of his chest as he spoke. Frank’s hands pressed him, maneuvering his body to turn and face him. When he was steady he felt Frank drop to his knees, gently lifting Matt’s leg to remove his boots.
A memory tore through Matt’s mind of his father, leaning down to help Matt put on his shoes when he was young. Before the accident, before-
Matt's fingers dug sharply into Frank’s shoulders, looking for anything to drag him out of the memory and back to reality.
“You’re okay, I got you.” Frank soothed, so unlike what Matt had come to know him as. Frank tossed the boots out of the shower before methodically releasing the fastens on his pants and tugging them down. He could feel the heat rising to the surface of his skin, prickling with a blush.
“Frank-” The name caught in his throat tightly. He could feel the threat of more tears just fighting for a chance to fall. Frank shushed him, rising till they were at eye level again. Matt let his face fall into the crook of Frank’s neck. He breathed him in.
They stood like that for a while, nothing but two men who had been broken by life, by death, by grief. Matt would never agree with the way Frank handles his issues, but that night, when Frank saw him, brought him back from the brink, he thought he might have caught a glimpse of a Frank he would never get to know.
A man who had known pain, sure, but one whose very heart hadn’t been taken from him. Someone who fought because there were people at home counting on him. Not because there weren't.
That night, Matt finally understood him.