Chapter Text
The ringing in Matt’s ears had finally dropped from a deafening siren to the thump of Frank’s heart from five feet away, steady as an anvil. Matt sat on the edge of the cot, a cold sweat gluing his t-shirt to a chest that felt unnervingly solid. His hands shook, but not from weakness. They shook from a surplus of energy, like wires carrying too many volts.
Frank set a heavy ceramic mug of bone broth and a plate stacked with high-calorie military rations onto the rickety side table.
"Drink," Frank grunted, sitting back in a creaking folding chair. "Your body’s burning through fuel like a furnace. You don't eat, those new muscles of yours are gonna start eating themselves."
Matt reached for the mug. He intended to lift it delicately, but his fingers clamped down with a terrifying pressure. The ceramic cracked with a sharp snap. Matt froze.
"Jesus," Matt whispered. "What did you do to me, Frank?"
"Saved your miserable life," Frank said without a shred of apology in his gravelly voice. "You were unconscious and bleeding all over my floor, Red. Not even an hour away from a body bag. I gave you blood. Mine. Only problem is, my blood comes with a little extra."
Matt closed his eyes, even if the view never changed, with his radar sense mapping the room in sharper detail than he had grown accustomed to. He could hear the dust motes scraping against each other in the air. He could feel the denseness of his own bones. "This isn't normal regeneration. I feel... heavier. My heart rate is too low for the amount of adrenaline clearly flooding my system."
"Welcome to Project Cerberus," Frank said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Before they turned me loose in Kandahar, they pumped me full of a revised super soldier cocktail. A little tweak on the old standard. They wanted a soldier who didn't tire, didn't bleed out, and didn't stop until the target was dead. I thought it was just a myth they told us to make us feel like gods. Then I survived a shot to the head. It changes your body, Red. Forever. I'm not sorry about saving your life."
Matt swallowed hard. "I already had a mutation, Frank. The accident when I was a kid... Stick taught me how to wall off the noise. He spent two years breaking me down just so I could handle a normal room. He used to beat me with a bamboo stick until I could hear the grain of the wood moving through the air."
Frank let out a dry, dark chuckle. "Yeah? Well, that sadistic fuck didn't account for military-grade bioweapons. Stick taught you how to sharpen a knife, Murdock. My blood just turned you into a sledgehammer. You can't use the same old tricks."
"I have to," Matt insisted, a sudden surge of heat radiating from his skin. "If I can't control this, I'll kill someone. The next time I drop a boot on a mugger's ribs, I'll cave his chest in. I felt it when I woke up, Frank. A... a pull. An unusual spike of aggression. It wasn't just physical."
"That’s the serum," Frank said, his voice dropping to a deadly serious register. "It takes whatever’s inside you and turns the volume up to eleven. If you're a bully, you become a monster. If you're a martyr..." Frank paused, a grim smile touching his lips. "...you become a more dangerous devil."
Matt stood up too fast. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, the wood fibers compressing under a weight that didn't match his previous frame. He stumbled, his balance completely warped by the sudden shift in his center of gravity.
Frank caught him by the shoulder. His grip was stone, but for the first time, Matt didn't feel dwarfed by Frank’s mass. They felt equal. Two heavy, immovable objects occupying the same cramped safe house.
"Easy," Frank muttered, stabilizing him. "You just got a super soldier upgrade. Your old training is useless right now. Stick taught you how to listen to the world, but you need to learn how to hold yourself back from breaking it."
Matt gripped Frank's forearm, feeling the rigid, reinforced muscle beneath the sleeve. "Then teach me. You adjusted. Show me how to tone it down."
Frank stared at him for a long, silent moment.
"Tomorrow," Frank said, releasing him and stepping back toward the shadows of the room. "Tomorrow, we start from scratch. I'm gonna break every habit that old man taught you. If you're gonna run Hell's Kitchen with my blood in your veins, you're gonna learn how to move like a soldier, not an acrobat. Get some sleep, Red. You're gonna need it.