Chapter Text
Tony is most definitely, and without a doubt, an insanely curious man. He’s a man who can be shown a problem and will need to make seven solutions for himself before he can even think of doing anything else. It just takes over his head like nothing else can, and then nothing can really matter until he’s seen it all the way through.
Today, that problem happens to be Daredevil or — as he’s otherwise known as — the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Truly not a very flattering name, but by God (no pun intended), it fits.
The man is like a ghost and a demon all mixed into one. He can beat up twelve men all on his own one second and disappear into the dark like he was never even there the next. A feat like that in red fetish gear is shocking.
Still, the man had never really been on Tony’s radar until a few days ago when Clint had to stakeout Hell’s Kitchen for a mission they were doing. A simple, solo stakeout mission that ended up with him dancing with the devil as they took down a group of child traffickers he had accidentally run into. Looking at the footage from Clint’s body cam, Tony couldn’t help his brain from latching on to every little movement the man made. Every strike that made its mark, every dodge that shouldn’t have been humanly possible. Someone shot a bullet at him from behind, and he ducked without a single qualm and then went back to fighting without even glancing at where it was coming from.
He seemed to pick up on every little thing Clint said, and even when they were separated by multiple people, he could shout back replies no matter what volume Clint spoke at. It was honestly quite terrifying. Which only made it all the more interesting for him.
It had been fourty eight hours of non-stop research for Tony when Clint and Natasha came in to stop him. In that time, he’s realised that Daredevil has to be enhanced in some way, — if he isn’t just an actual demon — that he’s got a rocky relationship with other vigilantes in the area, that he’s taken down criminals like Wilson fisk (twice) as well as many other various mobs and that he’s never once killed anybody. That last one makes him feel better about not looking into the guy before. Sure, he dabbles in torture from time to time, but it’s only on people who are heinous criminals themselves, so Tony can’t exactly be talking.
“Found anything else out?” Natasha asks, just like she had an hour ago when she and Katniss had stumbled into his workspace. This time, they don’t just linger by the door, however. Now they seem committed to getting him to take a break — something his mind just isn’t prepared to do yet.
“No, Mister Target dominatrix here is strangely good at avoiding cameras.” Tony rubs his goatee as he scrolls through different files of video footage Jarvis had scrounged up from anywhere he could get it. Probably not completely legal, but oh well. He’s an Avenger and a billionaire, so he’ll be fine.
“He hides in the shadows. It was creepy.” Clint shudders as he sits up on the part of his desk that Tony has just picked his coffee cup from. Then he refuses to even look in Tony’s direction, so his normal scowling doesn’t even work. The two of them stare, calculating, as Tony puts on the video from Clint’s body camera again.
Clint was getting overwhelmed, bad guys on all sides, that he’s ready to fight off like a one-man army when R rated Little Red Riding Hood dropped from the ceiling and just started beating them up. Words are exchanged, but the camera doesn’t even face the man again except for tiny glimpses as Clint beats up the people in his way, Daredevil dealing with the rest. Clint then introduces himself and only gets a gruff, stay out of my city in return before the devil is just gone. Like he just molded into the shadows, except according to Jarvis there’s the quiet sound of footsteps as he assumably runs out of the warehouse.
“He must’ve been trained by somebody.” Natasha mumbles, rewinding and replaying the small amount of footage there is of the man actually fighting. There are definitely some professional fighting styles in there. According to Jarvis, there’s many. From Muay Thai to basic street fighting. She sighs and pauses the videos, turning back to Tony with a no nonsense look in her eye. “I doubt you’re going to find anything else running on zero sleep, Tony.”
“Few more minutes, Sunshine.” He waves her off, asking Jarvis to pull up the grainy footage of Daredevil fighting three traffickers by the docks. There’s no audio and the video quality is lackluster — that seems to be a pattern in poorer neighbourhoods — but Daredevil beats the guys. Oh, he beats the guys.
“You said that an hour ago.” Clint stops the video again, not giving in no matter how much he scowls at the man. Each time he turns the video on, it’s turned off in a manner of seconds by one of the two of them. Nat is just too damn fast.
“I just want to find something on R rated little red! Like look!” Tony sighs, running his hand through his hair before he pulls back up another video. In this one, Daredevil leaps from a wall, starts to fight off five people and then — out of nowhere — a sixth one appears who throws a knife right at his back. Then he catches it and keeps on fighting. “Boom, didn’t even care! If we had someone like him on the team, then maybe we could properly anticipate attacks.”
“That’s assuming he’s actually psychic.” Clint mentions and he holds back the urge to throw his — now cold — coffee cup at the man. Daredevil is psychic in some shape or form. He knows that for almost certain.
Sure, the devil is doing good work in Hell’s Kitchen with Wilson Fisk and the like, but he could do so much good if he worked with the Avengers. He could psychically tell when attacks were coming, maybe even what people were thinking if his powers worked like that. He could save hundreds of lives. Tony just has to convince him.
“If we promise to go look for him, will you go to sleep?” Natasha compromises, a hand on his shoulder that he doubts would go away unless he agreed to go to bed.
“Fine!” Tony announces, telling Jarvis to close his work for the night (day? He can see the sun out of his blinds, so likely day) and getting up. “But only because I’m edging towards the limit of getting Pepper.”
He goes to bed that night(day?) with his head full of too many thoughts to properly categorise, but he knows one thing: the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is going to work with the Avengers whether he likes it or not. From the “stay out of my city” comment, he guesses it will be a not situation.
Church is a sensitive topic for Steve. Has been since he was a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who’d sit in the back and pray to God that he’d be able to do something with his life. Be able to help someone — save someone.
Then he was a bigger kid from Brooklyn, too busy being shuffled across the country and beyond, too busy actually fighting people to go to church. When he dropped into the ice, all he’d prayed for was that Peggy would be okay without him. He’d gotten his wish even if he never expected to be shoved into the time after she’d already lived.
God, Peggy had lived a full, meaningful life, and he just wasn’t there. Stuck under ice for far too long.
He’s gone to church a handful of times after getting out of the ice. Mostly for occasions like Christmas or Easter. Captain America isn’t the kind of guy who can wander into a church during Mass unnoticed. It hurts more than he likes to admit that he can’t go every Sunday but between missions and general business, he’s barely even gone this year.
When he does try to go to church one Sunday night, long after Mass and when he should be left alone, he doesn’t tell anyone about it. So Steve Rogers walks into a mostly empty church and collapses onto a pew with his head in his hands. The walls of the place seem to fall in on him. Squeezing his lungs and reminding him of all the times he wasn’t here.
The man in the pew in front of him tilts his head to the side as if listening to something. He doesn’t turn, however. He stays facing forward, ready to leave the man to wallow in his own emotions in the one place he can do that — an empty church.
It’s silent in there. Real silence that Steve hasn’t been privy to in a long time due to constantly having people living with him. His hearing got enhanced by the serum after all, and quite a few people in the tower snore. The silence feels strange. There’s no hushed conversations, no sounds of footsteps, no shuffling papers. Only two men breathing, and the sound of rain pattering against the windows.
“Not that many people are at church this late.” The other man breaks through the silence, his head still tilted but not turned around. Steve doesn’t even know if he’s realised he’s Captain America yet.
“I could say the same to you.” Steve lets himself smile. For a moment, there’s no weight hovering on his shoulders. No need to be the strongest man in the room or be the hero everyone expects him to be. He’s not just Captain America here — he’s Steve Rogers, an Irish Catholic with a lot of guilt.
“Yes—well, I suppose you could.” He laughs, a full chested laugh that would sound a bit like a scoff if it weren’t for the smile coming through in his words.
“I’ve been told talking about it helps.” The man suggests after the silence draws on too long.
“I thought you came here to talk to the lord.” Steve looks up at the ceiling. The church is truly beautiful. He’s gone to one in a poorer neighbourhood, Hell’s Kitchen, because he thought there’s less of a chance of him getting recognised. Even in a less well off neighbourhood, the place is breathtaking. There are lanterns hanging over the arches and stained glass windows meeting the cross at the front. Someone had taken the time to make this place beautiful, and it worked.
“He made people social beings for a reason.” The man points out. The sound of something plastic-like that must be his foot tapping against the ground echoes around the church.
“I have a lot of pressure, that’s all.” He looks at the other man, almost studying him for any signs of a threat. A habit he’s unsure how to drop when he’s not being Captain America. His hair is brown and well kept. He’s wearing some kind of glasses and a suit and tie that don’t cover the bruise that’s climbed up on the back of his neck. “Feels like I haven’t been in a church in years, and now I’m here, it’s just…”
“Overwhelming?” Steve nods at the other man’s addition and slumps further in the pew he’s sitting in.
“I’m Matt Murdock” The man — Matt — shrugs, his head still turned away from Steve.
“Steve.”
“I grew up here, in the orphanage. Trust me, even when you’re here every week, it can feel suffocating.” Matt says, with a twinge of pain in his words that Steve feels the need to apologise for, even if he hasn’t done anything.
“You’ll be seeing me next Sunday if I can get the time.” Steve isn’t very good at making friends. Normally, it’s just team-building exercises that grow into actual friendships, and before then it was just Bucky. He wants to be friends with Matt though, friends where he doesn’t have to be anyone but the guy from church.
Matt laughs and then turns around. He picks up his stick as he does so and stares off in Steve’s general direction with crimson red sunglasses over his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be seeing you, Steve.”
Oh shit. “I’m so sorry—” Steve straightens up, his hands in front of him in a gesture that Matt cannot see as he tries to apologise.
Then the guy starts laughing even harder. “No, no, it’s fine. I like joking about it.”
Steve laughs with him. Of course he hasn’t realised he’s Captain America — he hasn’t even seen him. Besides, who would jump to the conclusion of someone sounding vaguely like Captain America to someone being Captain America?
“Will I be hearing you again, Steve?” Matt asks, stepping out of the pew into the alleyway in between. His hand grasps the side of the pew to find his way. It takes a lot out of Steve to not jump up to help him out, but surely he can take care of himself.
“I’ll be sure to find you.”
“Have a nice night, Steve.” Matt pats Steve’s shoulder as he walks by. The sound of plastic hitting the ground starts when he’s out of the range of the pews entirely. Steve can’t help but stare back at the man until he’s fully out of the church. Staring at the bruise that’s still there, even with his attempt to hide it with his collar.
How does a blind man get a bruise like that? Except for clumsiness or just the daily woes of not being able to see, but the bruise almost looks like a hand. Like fingers had wrapped around it and squeezed.
Steve has just met Matt Murdock, and he already wants to dig into his personal life.
“Daredevil is a force to be reckoned with.” are all the words Matt has to pick up before he’s running in the opposite direction of where he thinks two of the literal Avengers are. Buzzing in his ears, short hair, a bow hooked on his back — likely Hawkeye. The woman next to him doesn’t really have a scent. Each step she takes is light, and each breath is controlled. Her heartbeat and the ruffling of the gun inside her jacket are the only things that give her away. Black Widow and Hawkeye are looking for him.
He groans as he has to take another long route to where he’s meeting Frank because the two of them are always getting in his way. His steps get caught up by two heroes going in circles and still finding ways to inconvenience him.
Matt doesn’t even know why they’re here for him. The few conversations between the two weren’t of any interest to him, full of code words and inside jokes that didn’t make any sense as he beat up people while also hiding from two of the literal Avengers.
This couldn’t be about Steve, could it? Yes, Matt knew he had talked to Captain America in church the other day, but he had expected that to be the end of it. Until the man came back, fully with the intent of the two of them becoming friends. Matt from church couldn’t be linked back to Daredevil. Or at least he hopes he couldn’t. Matt puts a lot of work into his secret identity, and he doesn’t want it taken away because he’s nice to a superhero pretending not to be a superhero at church.
“Don’t move.” Matt warns Frank through the phone and hears his muscles tense from the rooftop above him as he hears it. The Punisher stands with his back to two Avengers only about three rooftops away. It’s a miracle they haven’t seen him already, considering how unsubtle Frank can be when he wants to.
He’s never subtle around Daredevil. The two of them have been getting along quite nicely for the last few months, with no more headshots or stab wounds shared between the two of them, and throughout that time he’s been more in his face than he expected. Gruff words that carry all the bluntness he can muster. Point being, Matt needs to find a way to get the Avengers off his back, Frank out of here without being arrested and for the two of them to actually go scout out some potential new traffickers down by the docks.
Punisher had gotten a tip the other day about new people taking over the trafficking game after Daredevil and he had run so many of the others out. He just had to promise to use rubber bullets, and Matt promised to be there to check it out with him.
The Avengers ruin his plans.
“Avengers are following me, Black Widow and Hawkeye. They’re only a few rooftops away from you.” Matt whispers down his phone and can hear as Frank’s heartbeat speeds up at his words. The man isn’t happy, and he can’t really blame him.
“Can’t you tell them to piss off?”
“Didn’t want to talk to them, but appears they’re persistent.”
The two of them are sitting on the edge of the rooftop, eating some kind of sandwiches and conversing through signs that are incredibly hard to pick up. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, and it’s annoying him like hell. They aren’t looking at Frank though, and they haven’t noticed Daredevil underneath, so for now he’s safe. They’re safe.
“I’m gonna go see to these scumbags whether you come or not, Red,” Frank threatens, his foot tapping against the roof he’s standing on. Matt bites back a sigh. There’s only two ways out of this and only one that doesn’t include literally fighting the Avengers and getting himself put on some watchlist.
“Ten minutes?”
“Five, then I’m fucking off.” Frank hangs up on him, and he can hear as the man sits down on the rooftop, methodically fidgeting with his gun as he waits.
It doesn’t take long for Daredevil to get onto the roof. Black Widow must notice something is off as her heart rate increases ever so slightly as he gets to the top. Hawkeye seems completely in the dark and keeps on eating without a worry. “Why are you in my city?” He might have timed his words with when Hawkeye was in the middle of a bite to get back at him for stalking him, but he can neither confirm nor deny.
“Daredevil, nice of you to finally show your face.” As Hawkeye coughs on the bite of food he’s choking on, Widow turns around to actually converse with him. Her legs spin around and tap against the roof with a surprisingly meagre amount of sound. A normal person probably couldn’t have even heard it.
“I have been avoiding you.” He needs to get this over with, quick. Frank isn’t known to be patient when people are hurting.
“Now that’s just rude, Red.” Hawkeye smiles, his sandwich — chicken, his nose tells him — left on the side of the roof in its container.
“Don’t call me that.” He snaps, an annoyance he didn’t really understand flowing through his veins.
“Double D?”
“I don’t care. Now answer my question.” Matt takes a step forward, his hand tightening around his billy clubs. He’s taller and bigger than her, but he’s not a fool to think he’d be able to take the literal Black Widow in a fight, especially since she has backup and he has a Frank. But the threat is still there. He has something to do, and time is running out.
“We wanted to thank you for having Clint’s back.” Widow takes a step towards him. Her hair shifts against her leather jacket as she moves. “And offer you a hand of diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy?” There’s a hand in front of him. He hears her leather sleeve ruffle against her chest as she uncrosses her arms to offer it to him. It’s there, but that doesn’t mean he has to shake it.
Hawkeye sighs as he stands there motionless. “You’re protective of your city, and we are protective of most of the world.”
“Except the parts you destroy.”
“Choosing to ignore that—it will just be easier all around if we are willing to work together.” Hawkeye continues speaking, the words becoming less important as he focuses on the sound of shuffling from Frank’s rooftop. Frank is fucking getting up, and it hadn’t even been two minutes. He’s going to beat that man if he leaves without him. The talk with the Avengers better not be for nothing.
“It will make my life a lot easier if you all get out—”
“Oi Red! We doing this or what?” Frank shouts from a rooftop closer than he was before. The scent of gunpowder lingers on him even with what better be rubber bullets in his gun. Hawkeye’s heartbeat has a mini attack when he whips his head around and sees the Punisher; Widow’s barely skips a beat before she huffs out a breath.
“So he can call you Red?” Widow asks, a grin on her face at the same time that Hawkeye shouts. “Is that the Punisher?”
“He’s a frie—we work together.” Matt cuts himself off — the complexities of his and Frank’s relationship are far too much to sum up in a few words. They trust each other enough to risk their lives. They have both attacked each other. Matt fundamentally disapproves of most of his methods. Yet they’re still here, working together and trying to get the Avengers off his back. “Now I have a job to do.”
He gets to the edge of the roof, ready to jump off, before Hawkeye shouts again. “We can help!” Him and Widow divulge into what he guesses is arguing with more hand signals he can’t decipher. His focus is on Frank, though, who’s only getting closer to them with every heavy step he takes. “Come on, Nat, what’s the worst that’ll happen?”
“Frank snaps both your necks.”
Frank lets out what can only be described as a cackle as he finally jumps next to Matt, a gun swinging by his side that brushes past his hand. “I hope that’s not Red insinuating he’d let me kill someone.”
“Never, Frank.” He spits out, putting away his billy clubs to walk off the edge of the roof again.
“Altar boy,” Frank mumbles under his breath as he moves to follow him.
The Avengers are still there, coming with whether he likes it or not. They may be assholes, but they’re definitely pushy assholes who can help save some people if it comes down to it. Frank is decidedly not happy with this outcome but waves for them to come with as they jump between rooftops anyway.
Matt just about whispers his plans to Frank as they keep on walking, every step and every breath coming with the added baggage of the injuries he’d sustained only a few days ago acting up again. He’d gotten cocky, and someone had gotten the jump on him. Now there are massive bruises on his neck shaped like hands, according to Foggy, that are hard fuckers to hide. Not to mention how his shoulders can’t hunch or they pull something in his neck determined to make him scream with how much it hurts. His breathing isn’t too obstructed, so he’s still out here. Hiding back a wheeze every time he gets punched.
Hawkeye, not liking being left out for once, pipes up as they stop on a rooftop only a few miles from the docks. From here, they’d have to walk on the ground, but that’s a different issue. “Who are we chasing exactly?”
“Supposed human traffickers down at the docks.” Frank’s disgust leaks through his voice in a way he’s come to expect by now.
“Scoping it out, fighting if we have to.” Matt continues on, getting his billy clubs back out from their pockets. There’s people here, multiple people. Some are tied up in what sounds like chains every time they rustle. A kid’s crying. A man shouts at him with a gun in his hands, and then the kid is crying silently. His grip tightens around the clubs, probably turning his knuckles white from how tight he’s holding them. They’re all inside a warehouse near the docks. Two entrances and no windows in the entire thing. The doors aren’t locked, but there are guards both inside and outside.
Matt doesn’t even notice he’s perched himself on the edge of a rooftop, head tilted, until Hawkeye whispers to Frank, “What is he doing?”
“Just wait.” Frank whispers back. He’s used to his tactics by now.
“Twenty people, eight tied up, ten with guns and extra rifles on the ground. Four outside, two by each entrance—they all have guns—and another two by each entrance on the inside.” Matt explains, pointing over to the warehouse He can hear them all in.
“They’re prepared.” Frank grumbles and cocks his gun, his heart rate increasing at the confirmation.
“I’m sorry, how did he just do that?” Widow asks, the sound of her leather jacket starting to scratch against his ears now.
“Red’s just like that.” He chooses to ignore Frank’s words and focuses on the two stowaways. If they’re going to be here, then they’re bloody well going to help save people. Avenger’s may be more fixated on alien threats and the like, but people still need help in cases like this.
“Widow, you and I go through the back. Frank and Hawkeye go through the front. Corner them in and get the hostages out, okay?”
Widow nods — she’s become his favourite of the two — while Hawkeye seems to be content on complaining, “What do I have to do to get name privileges?”
“You gotta be up close and personal with Red for that.” Frank teases, trying to throw his arm around Matt’s shoulder, which he sidesteps with ease.
“Watch it, Frank.” Matt jumps down to the fire escape beneath with ease. He doesn’t wait for the others to catch up, but soon enough, Widow is following behind him and he can hear Hawkeye and Frank’s heartbeats moving behind a dumpster at the front entrance.
He and Frank don’t have comms or anything like the Avengers do, no Frank will just whisper that he’s going and trust Matt to follow him in because that’s what they always do. The added problem of the two said Avengers makes it harder but not impossible for them to use their normal strategy. Widow vaguely asks a few times about how his comm fits into his mask that he chooses not to answer, listening out for Frank and Hawkeye’s conversation — or lack thereof. Then, when Frank gives the order, he’s up on his feet and telling Widow to move with him. To her credit, she does follow without a single complaint, and from what he can hear, so does Hawkeye.
Even if the Avengers are annoying as fuck, at least they do their jobs well. He and Widow make quick work of the two guards on the outside of the door before they can even get to their radios to tell the others. He kicks in the door despite Widow asking again what the plan is, as Frank had done the same thing moments prior. Maybe they should get some way to communicate because reacting to all of Frank’s moves is becoming exhausting.
There’s a lot of gunfire in there. He can track some it back to Frank’s guns, but most of it is from the enemy, barreling straight towards him and not smelling like rubber. Widow takes cover behind a metal box carrying guns to shoot her own shots back, while Matt runs forward, wanting to get them down quickly enough that no one got shot. He flips over one onslaught of bullets before knocking the shooter in the next with his stick, then he has to duck and roll to stop another one before he’s able to sweep the man’s legs out from under him. A man tries to come after him with a gun that’s empty of bullets. The weapon is lifted in the air like he wants to smash it against his head. Before he can knock out his legs, however, the man gets shot in the back by an onslaught of — rubber! — bullets and falls to the ground where he can knock him in the head with his billy club to keep him down.
“Thanks,” he calls out to Frank, closer than he was before as they move into the centre of the warehouse.
“Always got your back, Red,” Frank shouts back. His speech is cut off by the sound of shooting, and then they’re back to work like nothing even happened.
There are arrows flying through the air. Sent by Hawkeye himself, who’s sticking to the edges of the room while Frank blasts himself through despite all the punches he takes. Matt barely even has to dodge the arrows. They only get near his head when he moves after the arrow has already been shot. Apart from that, they always hit their target — decidedly not him.
He stops fighting when there’s only about two criminals left. They’re both cornered by Widow and Frank, so he has a straightforward path to getting the hostages out. In his walk over to the tied up people, the cocking of a gun aimed directly at the group assaults his ears. The actual shot even more so. It’s more of a reflex to shove himself into the bullet’s path than anything. The heartbeat of a terrified child is in his ears, so he takes the bullet without a complaint. It grazes over his shoulder, and Frank knocks the shooter out before he can shoot another one.
“Hey, you’re gonna be okay.” He comforts the kid as much as he can, the sounds of fighting still close behind him but far away enough that he doesn’t have to focus on it. There’s blood still gushing out of his shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had an exit wound as well, so he didn’t have to go fishing for it but it still hurts like hell. The blood drips onto the ground as he makes work of untying the people. Every time he stops, the blood coming out of his shoulder begins to form a puddle at his feet.
The chains feel familiar under his fingertips. Like he’s wrapped his hand around this kind of high grade metal before. They’re chains, not ropes which hostages are usually tied up in. Someone has put effort into this kidnapping, and he needs to know why.
Widow meets him and starts helping with the chains, Hawkeye and Frank not too far behind. “Get the people out and call the police.” He tells her when they get the last two out of their restraints. With no other focus, his hand flies to squeeze his arm’s injury. Now he really won’t be able to move it for a while.
“Frank?” He kneels down and helps put pressure on his arm without even being asked. It’s basically second nature to the two of them now. “Where do you get stuff like this? It’s the same kind of chains you used to tie me up.” It’s a small lead, but right now he just needs any. Whoever sells chains like this in Hell’s Kitchen is going to get a visit from the Devil. His attention is grabbed by the stifled laugh from Hawkeye and the skip in his heartbeat at Matt’s words. Does he know something?
How wrong his words may have sounded to Hawkeye doesn’t dawn on him until much later that night.
“I’ll talk to my guy, see what I can get.”
Frank takes away the chains, grunting that he’ll text Daredevil if he finds something before he’s gone. Matt stays listening to his heartbeat as he walks away just in case. He needs to be going soon too. His arm will probably need stitches, and letting it bleed out a river won’t help him in the long run. Widow is calming down some hostages while on the phone to the recognisable sound of Tony Stark. She and Hawkeye should have this managed. Except Hawkeye hasn’t moved from right in front of him.
“So…”
“What?” Matt snaps. The buzzing in Hawkeye’s ears is much more noticeable when he’s this close up. At least that would give him the upper hand if he ever has to fight the guy.
“Are you and Frank like—you know?” Hawkeye is making gestures with his hands that he doubts are sign language as he figures out what to say.
“We work together.”
“You sure you aren’t dating, because I saw sparks?” Matt has to stop his jaw from slacking. How on earth did he get to a conclusion that bloody wrong? It’s wrong — incredibly wrong. He and Frank are on better terms now, but not killing each other is the best the two of them can hope for, really. Besides, if Frank Castle swings anywhere near his way, then he will actually be shocked for once.
“I’m leaving.” Matt turns around and walks as fast as he can out of the door without running. He focuses on getting back home — that is what matters. That is all he should be focusing on.
That still doesn’t stop his head from eavesdropping on their conversation entirely.
“Nat, I think they’re in love.”
“They’re definitely close, but Daredevil seems annoyed at the guy. Also, it was used to tie me up, not use.”
“Daredevil was all prickly when I asked about him and Frank—you think they might be exes or something?”
“Messy breakups, man.”
Oh, he is not excited about where this mess is going to go.