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The Man of My Dreams
All the dreams started with a fucking dragon—that’s right, a sixty foot tall, red scaled, fire breathing fucking dragon. Why his heavily concussed subconscious had decided to transform the warehouse explosion into a dragon, he had no idea, but almost every night he dreamed about the damn thing. The dreams were so life like that at times that Frank even swore he could feel the heat of the beast’s breath against him and smell the sulfur-tinged smoke coming from its mouth. Near the end, there was always one crystal clear moment: he looked up and realized that the dragon was staring straight at him. Luminous golden eyes were locked onto him as the creature reared back and let out an earth shaking cry. Flames burst from it’s mouth, and Frank knew instinctively that he was about to die…. But he didn’t.
One second he was he was about to be engulfed in flames and then the next he was being torn through the air so violently it made him sick. When his vision cleared, the eyes he was looking into were hazel, not gold and human, not reptilian. A man with a thick fall of dark hair held him tightly.
“I’ve got you,” the man said steadily. “You’ll be all right.” The craziest part was that Frank believed him. Fuck the dragon! The amount of trust that Frank put into a complete stranger was the most unrealistic part. He didn’t trust people he’d known for decades. How could he instantly put his faith into someone who literally popped out of thin air? But, in dream-land, he did. After all, it was just a dream. If he wanted to dream about some insanely fucking hot guy who he could magically trust to save his ass from a dragon, why the hell not?
Frank was about to say something in return, but that was the moment when reality always seemed to creep in along the edges. Suddenly, there was no dragon and the word “obliviate” echoed in his ears—whatever the fuck that meant. Then there were sirens that sounded strangely like his alarm clock. Next thing he knew, the hot breath against him smelled like dog food rather than sulfur. There was no handsome stranger holding him, just his pitbull cuddled up against his chest. Waking up fucking sucked. He scratched at Max’s floppy gray ears absently, trying to banish the loneliness he felt for no particular reason.
The dog whined softly, indicating that it was time his human got his lazy ass out of bed. “I know, buddy,” Frank murmured as he stood up and pulled on a marginally clean pair of jeans.
Since being put on extended medical leave from the department following his head injury during the explosion, Frank had been becoming more and more lazy with each day. If it wasn’t for his kids and Max, he probably would have gone full-blown couch potato by now. He never thought he would miss being a cop as much as he did, and though the word hadn’t officially come down, he knew the diagnosis of a traumatic head injury was the death knell for his career. The fact that there was barely enough money coming in from his disability pay to cover the bills only made things worse. Sooner or later, Frank knew that he was going to have to shake himself out of his funk and find something to do with himself that didn’t involve sitting on his ass day in and day out. Today just wasn’t that day…
Frank found himself taking Max on a longer than usual walk that day. He’d been craving an eclair from Kowalski’s and the place was dog friendly, so why not? The pair walked the familiar streets idly with no real hurry. Max pranced slightly ahead on the leash giving one and all who crossed their path a wide-mouthed, pit grin. A few people stopped just long enough to say hello and offer the pooch a pet or two as they went about their business. Frank didn’t try too hard to strike up conversation with any of them, even though a couple of them had been none-too-shy about the fact that they would have loved to get to know him.
Kowalski’s was a New York institution. Founded back in the twenties in Brooklyn, there were now three locations scattered through the burrows each still run by one or more of the original owner’s grandkids or great grandkids. Frank could remember his old man bringing him in for a donut or cupcake when he’d been especially good as a kid, and it was something that he’d continued with his own children. There was just something magical about the baked goods from Kowalski’s.
Though the Hell’s Kitchen location was decidedly newer than the one in Queens he’d loved so much, the place still had an air of the “old country” about it. A picture of the patriarch’s grandmother still hung on the wall and the plate glass window was still adorned with old timey script announcing that they had “fancy pastries.” Frank took a deep breath, enjoying the yeasty tang of the fresh baked bread as he walked in. Beside him, Max’s jowls had become increasingly wet. Letting out a chuckle, Frank strode up to the counter where he was greeted by a chubby man with longish sandy hair.
“What can I get for you?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel draped across his shoulder.
“One eclair with black coffee and a doggie donut,” Frank ordered. Max barked excitedly when he heard his favorite word in the world “donut.”
The clerk grinned. “Someone’s not very patient today.”
“Yeah, well, he’s like that when he’s hungry.”
Frank settled them outside at one of the small cafe tables that were set up beneath large standing heaters. A warm front had come through and, combined with the air blowing down on him, he was comfortable enough in his leather jacket. He chewed on the eclair as he watched people filing by them. At his feet, Max devoured his donut in less than five seconds and was begging for just a bite of his master’s treat. With a laugh, Frank gave in and pulled a bit of the doughy part without chocolate off and fed it to his friend as he shoved the remainder in his mouth. Just when he was about to get up to leave, a voice sounded from behind him that he’d recognize anywhere.
“ I told you everything would be all right, Foggy. It was just a minor hex. ”
At first, Frank sat very still, listening to hear it again. After all, it had to be some sort of mind trick. His “dream man” didn’t exist. No one had been with him inside the warehouse before it exploded—well, no one except the piece of shit that blew himself up in the process. Like the dragon, the dark haired man was nothing more than a figment of his fucked up imagination and damaged brain. He didn’t have the balls at first to turn around, so he just sat there and listened in for a bit longer.
“Your idea of ‘all right’ and the rest of the world’s idea of ‘all right’ are two very different things, buddy,” a second man quipped. “Even by most auror standards, your idea of ‘all right’ is kind of fucked.”
“I’m sure Claire would agree with you,” the dream voice said with a sigh.
That voice was too familiar to Frank for it not to mean something. Sure, it was highly unlikely that it meant he had squared off with a dragon and lived to tell the tale, but he had to know the man behind him from somewhere. He turned slowly, trying to keep a low profile, and felt his mouth fall open at the sight that greeted him. The man seated at a tiny table opposite the door with the clerk from earlier was none other than the guy from his fucked up dream. Right down to the dark stubble covering his pale cheeks, this was the same man who had literally pulled him from the fire in his dream—a man who shouldn’t fucking exist.
Frank’s mind raced. He ducked his head and nursed the last bit of coffee in his cup, keeping his eyes glued to the man, just in case the guy could somehow vanish like he did in the dream. After a few more minutes of chatting about things that made no sense to Frank, the clerk got up and left. Once they were alone at their opposing tables, he decided that he had to at least talk to the guy. Maybe Frank would find out that he was a paramedic who’d been at the scene after the explosion or some other completely logical explanation for why he was always in Frank’s dreams. Swallowing hard, Frank tied Max to the table and made his way over.
“Excuse me,” he said clearing his throat. The man turned toward him, but even with his dark red glasses on, it was obvious that his gaze didn’t quite make it to Frank’s face. At that same instant, Frank spotted a folded white cane on the table, and the realization hit him like a bucket of ice water to his face. So much for his paramedic theory... The words that had been on his tongue just a second before scattered.
“Yes?” the stranger prompted.
“Sorry to bug you…you just really look like someone I knew a while ago, but I guess you’re not him,” Frank muttered awkwardly. He was about to turn tail, but the man’s smile stopped him in his tracks.
“Should I be offended or flattered?” he asked, quirking a dark brow over the rim of his glasses.
“Flattered,” Frank replied. “The guy saved my ass. I owed him a thank you.”
The smile faltered on the stranger’s lips. “Well, then I guess it couldn’t have been me. I’m not the hero type.”
“Something tells me that’s a load of bullshit.” The words were out of Frank’s mouth before he could stop them, but it was true; his gut told him that this guy was exactly the hero type. “I’m Frank Castle, by the way.”
“Matt Murdock,” the blind man returned, holding out his hand at the perfect angle to where Frank stood.
Frank didn’t believe in the candy-coated, Hallmark-hall-of-fame-moive instant chemistry. That was the kind of shit that chicks swooned over in stupid ass books, not the kind of thing that happened in real life. It sure as fuck wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to him, but right then he felt something strong pulling him toward Matt. The guy was good looking, but that wasn’t all of it. There was something else between them. If it was possible, he would swear on stack of fucking Bibles as high as his head that his skin knew the touch of Matt’s. Shaking himself out of the trance, Frank yanked his fingers away quickly.
“This is going to sound crazy, but do you know what the word ‘obliviate’ means?” Frank asked, feeling dazed.
“I do, but you shouldn’t,” Matt answered softly. His smile had completely faded. “What do you remember?”
“I don’t remember shit. It was just a dream—a pretty fucked up one with a dragon, but you were in it. Wanna tell me why?” Frank demanded.
Matt stood up and grabbed his cane. “Do you believe in magic, Frank?”
“What if I say I don’t?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t, actually—for both of us. You can grab your dog’s leash and go home like nothing happened if you don’t. You can forget about the dragon in your dream and me all together.” The idea seemed to make him sad.
Frank swore under his breath. “And if I do?”
“You should come with me,” Matt said with a half grin pulling at his lips.