It's Where my Demons Hide

by Ookami_Chi

Summary:

After Foggy and Karen left, the darkness seeped in. It found its way through every niche and crack and latched itself onto his skin, hanging there like leeches he didn’t bother to brush away. Nelson and Murdock had faded away into a distant memory, their old offices accumulating dust. His own apartment became less of a home and more of a base of operations. Minutes turned into hours and hours turned into days before he found himself crawling back to his couch, much less his bed that had gone without use in the past months--almost a year, since he had taken on The Hand, since he had lost her.
He realized, while standing on the edge of his city, that he had already given into the devil.

The Avengers take in the fallen devil and try to help him get back up on his feet.

Notes:

So, this is my own version of post Civil War. Everyone is back together at the tower, most issues were resolved and they are one big family, but issues still remain because that's how family is. Basically, the Avengers are an unconventional family.

As for Daredevil, it's post-season 2. Everything that happened has finally broken him.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Fall from Grace

 

After Foggy and Karen left, the darkness seeped in. It found its way through every niche and crack and latched itself onto his skin, hanging there like leeches he didn’t bother to brush away. Nelson and Murdock had faded away into a distant memory, their old offices accumulating dust. His own apartment became less of a home and more of a base of operations. Minutes turned into hours and hours turned into days before he found himself crawling back to his couch, much less his bed that had gone without use in the past months--almost a year, since he had taken on the hand, since he had lost her.

He realized, while standing on the edge of his city, that he had already given into the devil.

***

He reeled as a fist rammed into his jaw, knocking his entire world out of focus and sending it spinning like a top. All at once he felt himself falling, but on cue his feet planted, his fingers burning as they scraped against the cement.

Get up Murdock.

He countered the next attack, bringing up his arm to deflect another blow to the face while jabbing at his opponent’s gut, feeling the wind leave his lungs as the male wheezed. He was like a fish out of water. Matt took a deep breath before he took another hit from behind, reminded that, even with one down (for now), there were still three other men to take care off. His hand found the arm connected to the fist that was driving home toward him, twisting it as the man screamed.

The woman had been screaming here earlier. He had heard her from a rooftop nearby, along with the jeers of the men who had been holding her down, the sound of her purse falling into a puddle, the water splashing outward. He remembered her running away as his feet hit the pavement shortly after one of his sticks had connected with a thugs head, drawing their attention to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Recent injuries were screaming, demanding his attention as they stretched along the seams, threatening to pull him apart. Having left little time to heal between his forays as the Devil, the exhaustion and pain were starting to weigh in, giving Hell’s Kitchen’s local vigilante a growing disadvantage to the young men with energy to spare, and pocket knives. One of the young men spat blood onto the cement, the sharp tang hanging in the air as he flipped the blade in the air. The devil fought to fill his lungs with air.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t take a break. He couldn’t sleep.

Matt was distracted by the supposed leader of the gang of thugs when he felt it, the sudden burning sensation that had begun in his abdomen as laughter began from from behind him.

“Look here man, the Devil does bleed!”

He felt himself keeling over before his hand slammed over his gut, putting pressure on the wound as he swung around to jab at his attacker, keeping his attention focused on the knife that the kid held tight in his grip.

He was one hand down and outnumbered.

“You know, I know you are a lone wolf and all, but you really need to start recruiting some help once in awhile, Mr. Devil.” The unfamiliar voice was accompanied by the grunt of one of the thugs as the stranger’s feet connected with the man’s rib cage, knocking him back several steps where he fell on his ass.

Matt grimaced in response, hearing the clatter of metal on cement as he managed to disarm his opponent, forcing the male to use his fists. The stranger made quick work of the men left standing behind him before Matt finally got his opponent in a choke hold and knocked him out with a fist to the head.

Three hearts were beating faintly, unconscious. The fourth was rapid and loud--the stranger. The fourth thug must have managed to get away in the midst of the confusion. Matt steadied himself with one hand placed against the wall as the stranger seemed to survey his work, chuckling.

He sounded young.

“Perfect, with these guys all taken care of all we have to do now is get out of here and leave the baddies for New York’s Finest,” the kid proclaimed cheerfully. Matt could hear him walking closer, closing the gap in distance between them. “But seriously, have you ever heard of teaming up? It’s not the worst idea. I don’t know if you are blind or something, but you aren’t the only hero in New York.”
His head was spinning.

“I mean, I know there isn’t like, a hero support group or anything but like, we could work something out. We could help each other.”

He lurched forward, feeling sick as he felt himself falling, caught by a pair of strong hands before his head could smack against the ground. Matt resisted the urge to be sick, coughing up blood instead, shoulders shuddering as his grip on his gut lessened.

“Whoah man, are you okay?” The kid cussed as his world swam in and out of focus. Not catholic, a distant voice in his head noted. “Hey, hey, hey, you got to stay with me, okay DD?” He was panicking. Even as he was losing himself to the blood loss he could feel the young man’s heart racing, his hands shaking where he held Matt’s head, his other hand over his wound. “I’m going to get you some help, okay? So you have to stay with me.”

His grip slackened as his arm fell limp.

***

“Can you please explain to me one more time why the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is sprawled across one of my lab tables?” The vigilante in question was out cold, breath shallow as Bruce finished the last stitch to the stab wound to his gut, but there were still several other wounds in various stages of healing. The devil’s suit lay in a heap on the floor, with the infamous horned mask on top, its eyeless sockets glaring at thin air. Tony massaged his temples, fighting the urge to go down to the bar and pour himself a shot of whiskey. It was too late at night for this shit.

There had been too little time for questions when the kid had called on his mad dash through the city with the devil unconscious over his shoulder, bleeding out. Peter had had no clue of what to do or where to go, and certainly did not have the medical experience or know how to take care of a stab wound of all things--and it wasn’t like he was going to leave the devil to the hand’s of the authorities.

No, instead, he brought him to the Avenger’s tower. Goody. Tony stared at the unconscious face of the man behind the mask, trying to discern where he might of seen him before. Anyone could tell from just looking at the man that he had stretched himself too thin. There were dark circles under his eyes and, for the most part, the guy looked like he had been put through a shredder. That didn’t exclude the old scars that littered his torso, pale and ghost like. Tony winced at the thought of what could have caused them.

“He was stabbed, Tony,” Bruce sighed, shoulders hunched as he began to work on the minor cuts and half-healed wounds that the devil had managed to tear open again, popping stitches and aggravating the surrounding skin; Bruce had a feeling that this particular patient was going to be a pain in the ass. “If Peter hadn’t been around he might have died in that alleyway.”

Or not, Tony mused, tracing the older scars with his eyes. If they were anything to go by, the devil had survived worse and had lived to tell the tale for some time now.  Between taking on Wilson Fisk and the Punisher, the man was sure to have felt more than his fair share of pain.

Then again, from Peter’s story, the devil had never looked this tired. He had not had the energy to crawl away like he must have several times before, back to wherever he hid during the day until he was ready to hit the streets again.

Curious, Tony tapped the screen beside him, bringing up the folder he had been keeping on this particular vigilante, opening to reveal hundreds of various news clips and photos that popped up on the screen one after another, from his first sightings to the bombings and his eventual takedown of Wilson Fisk. Within the last year or two he had made a name for himself, the newspapers having turned away from calling him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and simply dubbed him Daredevil. Fitting, he supposed, for a man who risked his life jumping off rooftops and taking on the bad guys who had gun all while micromanaging the shit of ten blocks of New York City. Now that he had the man himself in his tower, Tony could finally have his questions answered. More importantly, the question everyone in New York wanted to know.

Who was the man behind the mask?

Through the screen he could see Bruce’s brows furrow as he passed his penlight over the vigilante’s eyes. “This can’t be right.” He raised one hand to rub his neck before faltering, repeating the process with the penlight over the devil’s eyes with the same result as before.

“What is it?” Tony moved to stand beside him, looking down at their mystery man as Bruce waved the light over his eyes one more time.

His pupil’s weren’t reacting.

“You’re not telling me…” Tony trailed off as Bruce nodded, pocketing the penlight.

“He’s blind.”

It was Tony’s turn to be shocked as he leaned back against neighboring table. The answer had been staring at his face all along. “Murdock,” he muttered, staring back at the article of the blind lawyer who had helped put Fisk in prison.

 

Chapter 2: Purgatory

Summary:

The Avengers cope with having a new addition to their family.

Matt is in unfamiliar territory.

Clint is the best father figure.

Notes:

So spring semester has just begun for me at college so updates might be a little slow. That said, I will try to focus on the quality of each chapter so that you have something to enjoy while you wait.

I wanted to thank everyone again who has viewed, commented or left kudos, you all bring a smile to my face! It's a joy to write this fiction and is becoming something to help me relax in between classes, work and homework during the time being.

There isn't a ton going on in this chapter, but I wanted to establish a few relationships between the characters and definitely show that, while the Avengers are a family, it's a very dysfunctional one.

In other notes:

Stark is a terrible people person and Clint becomes everyone's dad.

The devil tossed and turned in the bed sheets, ensnaring himself, which only managed to add to his distress. Clint frowned as he looked down at the kid, who, while considerably older than Peter, was still younger than the rest of the team and thus had received “kid” status in his mind. At the moment, the kid’s face was contorted, his hands balled into fists that began to flail wildly and he wondered (not for the first time mind you) if he should just tie the kid down. At least then he wouldn’t pull at his stitches and reopen old wounds, and Clint wouldn’t find himself with a fist in his face. The idea was dismissed as Stark’s words rung in his mind and he sized himself up to attempted to calm the kid down again.

“Hey kid, calm down,” he murmured, his hands pressing gently against the devil’s shoulders, coaxing him back down toward the bed. What was his name again? Something with an M. Matthew, Matt, Matty? He shrugged, figuring that with an unconscious, flailing vigilante on his hands, the later wouldn’t hurt at this point. “Come on Matty, all this flailing is definitely not going to help you in the long run.” For whatever reason, the pet name seemed to have a soothing effect (Clint made sure to thank whatever merciful God had saved him from ending up with a broken nose) and soon the male had fallen into a deeper sleep. Clint began to fix the blankets that had become entangled around his legs when he heard the sigh of the door opening, accompanied by familiar footsteps.

“How is he?” Steve whispered, both men looking over at the vigilante in question, who stirred at the sound but did not wake.

Clint ran one hand through his hair, leaning heavily against the wall as he gestured toward the sleeping male. “He had another nightmare.”

Steve nodded in response. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured. “We all fight our own demons.”

Clint frowned, hands crossed over his chest. “Well he shouldn’t have to fight his alone.”

 

***

 

Waking up is like being pulled out of the depths of the ocean. At first there was an endless dark abyss and suddenly there was an explosion of color as his senses fired to life, scrambling to get a grip on his surroundings before his mind had the chance to really focus. Memories flooded back from the night in the alley, but none of it could explain his current situation. A hand stopped on his chest stopped him from bolting upright.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice was masculine, and seemed to be the same individual that was currently keeping him from sitting up. “Unless you want to try to die again, that’s your choice, of course, but I would feel compelled to save you from yourself. Again.” Matt frowned, neither trying to get up nor laying back down, brows furrowed as he picked up on a constant humming noise that seemed to surround the stranger. “Honestly, what is it with you vigilantes? You always seem to end up on death’s doorstep.”

Matt chuckled grimly, grimacing at the movement, his hand moving to rest over his stomach, finding his lower torso to be wrapped in bandages. “Death is a cruel mistress.” Expanding his senses further, outside of the room he was in, he could tell he was still in the city from the sounds of traffic below. He had been taken from the alley and his wounds had been cared for, possibly by the stranger. Unfortunately, that gave him no clues as to where he was now. Not jail, his mind answered, which was a small blessing among other things. He moved the other man’s hand from his chest, easing himself up into a sitting position with a practiced ease, despite the constant pain. “Who are you?”

“Straight to business, huh? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” the male said, with a sound that could have been a shrug. “Tony Stark. Nice to meet you Hornhead, or do you prefer Matthew?”

Iron Man. So he was among the avengers, then. His fist clenched, a scowl forming and a retort ready on his lips that he kept to himself, “Matt.”

“Well then, Matt, I suppose you have a few questions for me, as I have quite a few for you, but all of those can be answered in time,” Stark replied, nonchalant. “As for now, you should know that you are safe here and you are free to roam around whenever or wherever you please. Jarvis is available to answer any questions or guide you around the tower.” He heard the man take a few steps before he stopped again. “Oh, and there is a change of clothes beside the bed. There is no need to walk around in a mask, Matt, we are all friends here.” With that, he left Matt to his own devices, his exit marked by the sound of the door opening and closing with a soft click behind him.

Reaching out, he found a shirt and a pair of sweatpants sitting beside the bed just as Stark said they would be. Once clothed, Matt gingerly picked his way toward the door, finding the hallway outside empty as he slipped out into the unfamiliar territory of the tower. He kept to the wall, his palm flush against the surface as he pressed unsteadily forward, his other hand wrapped around his torso, his head tilted to one side to listen to the sounds of the tower.

 

***

Mister Murdock has left his room, Sir. Jarvis sounded from above as Tony settled onto one of the couches of the common room. The announcement did not go unnoticed by Clint and Peter, who had been engrossed in a game of chess nearby. The former looked up toward him, one brow raised.

“He’s awake?”

“He looked like he wanted to take a swing at me,” Tony said with a shrug, one hand behind his head as he flipped on the television. “Our vigilante doesn’t seem to like us very much.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Clint offered in response, taking out Peter’s queen. “Your move, kid.”

“He shouldn’t be moving around this soon,” Peter murmured, leaning in his chair. “He should be resting, right?” The teenager had been restless since he brought the hornhead in question to the tower, while the man was barely clinging to life. It had been a widely agreed upon that Peter would be kept out of Matt’s room during the time he was out. If it was up to Tony, the kid would be at home with his Aunt.

“He’s a vigilante, kid, vigilante's are stubborn.” Tony quipped in response. “He’ll be fine. I told him he had free roam to explore the tower, figured he would want some alone time.” And considering the scowl that had formed on the man’s face, Tony was certain that Matt planned to get out of the tower as soon as possible. He didn’t blame him. It was the actions of the Avenger’s that had given rise to men like Wilson Fisk, after all.

Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up from the game, “You’re an idiot, Stark.”

“What did I do?”

The archer left the room without a response, leaving the him to look to Peter for answers.

 

***

 

Clint found the male sitting in a corner, cross legged and his palms up on his knees, eyes closed and head leaning back against the wall. Miraculously, it seemed the kid had managed to avoid tearing open any of his stitches, but he still managed to make a pitiful sight sitting out in one of the less used hallways of the tower. The former shield agent shook his head, crouching down in front of the male. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” the answer was clipped, but it was an answer none the less and that was fine by him. He watched Matt’s eyes open but seemingly staring somewhere just past him, his head tilted to the left. “What do you want?”

Clint shrugged, moving to sit down beside the male, stretching out his legs as he leaned his own head against the wall.
“Well, I figured that waking up in an unfamiliar place is a bit unnerving, and Stark isn’t the greatest people person,” he said with a shrug, “thought you might want some friendly company.” He felt Matt tense beside him. “I’m Clint,” he offered, not expecting the introduction to help the other male’s current mood.

“I have a feeling that you will stay whether I like it or not,” Matt muttered in response.

“Probably, but I have a feeling that you don’t really want to be sitting out in a random hallway either.” Matt made no attempt to respond. Clint was getting a feeling that the kid was the silent type, keeping most things to himself, much like Natasha. He knew from experience that trying to crack his shell open and pull him out wouldn’t work on Matt, but would only cause him to recede farther in, closing himself off from everyone around him. “Besides, I have a feeling you are the type that enjoys heights.”

 

 

 

Chapter 3: "Fine"

Summary:

Matt is definitely not fine, but everyone just takes his word for it.

Tony is probably going to ban the word "fine."

Notes:

Hey everyone, sorry for the delay in updates. Along with the lovely life that is college, I spent the last few weeks settling into my new apartment with my girlfriend and we won't have Internet until tomorrow. That said, yay for Internet at the library! For those viewing right away, the formatting might be a little odd as I am posting from my cell phone, but I will fix later today.

Again, thank you so much for supporting this fan fiction by reading, commenting and leaving kudos. You guys are awesome and continue to inspire me to work on this.

Edit: Hey guys, I'm getting internet tonight (2/13/17) so I will be going through and fixing the formatting. Thank you to everyone that has been putting up with the blocks of text until now!

Turned out, Clint wasn’t wrong about the kid’s love of heights. Matt had been more than willing to accompany him to the gym, where the archer had promised was the best area to find a nice perch--essentially a way to escape the rest of the inhabitants of the tower. At first, he had had his doubts about Matt being able to reach the rafters without pulling out a few stitches along the way, but the other male ultimately surprised him in the end in the way he navigated the climb, finding the most efficient route while being as gentle as possible on his wounded torso. Either that, or Matthew Murdock had a penchant for pain.

“You still feeling okay, Matty?” Clint asked as he pulled himself up onto the rafter, briefly debating whether there would be a point in offering a hand down to the male, who seemed to be doing okay. Matt grimaced in response.

“It’s just Matt.” Right… Pet-names were a no-no with conscious Matt. Clint stored that piece of information away, but kept his gaze on the other male until Matt had managed to pull himself up beside him. “I’m fine.”

“Usually when people say they’re fine, they really aren’t fine.” He might have kept a little too close to the line there, considering the way Matt’s frown deepened. Shaking his head, Clint realized he wasn’t going to get an answer from the other male. “So, other than parkouring across the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen and perching like a gargoyle, what else do you like to do for fun, Matt?” If he wasn’t wrong, he might have seen a shadow of a smile flit across Matt’s face for a moment.

“Says the man who uses an archaic weapon while in the midst of a god, monster, assassin, super-powered soldier and a billionaire with a mechanical suit.”

“Hey, bows are cool!” He exclaimed in response. “So says the man who runs around dressed as the devil in the midst of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“It’s a symbol.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

***

“I’m telling you, Cap, he is probably perfectly fine,” Tony explained to a scowling Steve as they searched the halls of the Avengers Tower for the allusive Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. “Honestly, for all we know he is probably hiding from us in the shadows. I’ve heard that he isn’t much of a people person.” He wouldn’t be surprised if the male had managed to find some hidden corner of the tower that they hadn’t searched yet, or had gotten lost entirely. How far could a blind guy possibly get, anyway?

“Unless you have forgotten overnight, Tony, he is injured,” Steve hissed fists clenched as he resisted the urge to punch the billionaire in the face. “And the inhabitants of this tower seem to have no sense of self-preservation.”

“Speak for yourself, I would rather avoid dying. I’m not the dying type.” Daredevil seemed to be, though, but he wasn’t about to try his luck with capsicle, who looked about ready to put a hole in a wall. Underneath the anger Tony knew that he was worried for the devil, for Matt Murdock. It wasn’t at all unlike the way Clint had reacted. Both men were actually concerned about a vigilante of all people. “Besides, I’m sure Clint has probably found him at this point.”

“Which wouldn’t have been necessary if you had decided to give Matt free reign of the tower without offering any guidance.”

“What can I say? I figured he wasn’t the biggest fan of the Avengers and wanted to be left alone,” Tony said in a way of explaining himself, palms up in a sign of defeat as they neared the gym, where Jarvis noted was inhabited by one Mr. Barton and Mr. Murdock. “Though he seems to get along with Clint pretty well.” In fact, he could hear the voices of the two men now as they entered the gym, seeming to arrive just in time to hear Clint tell Matt about his experiences in nearly all the dumpsters in New York City. Looking over at Steve, the two of them followed the voices to the forms of Clint and Matt sitting in the rafters above them, legs swinging idly, unaffected by the risk of falling.

“Tell me again how you ended up rescued from a dumpster by a hot nurse?” Clint asked Matt, who, even from Tony’s place on the ground, seemed to roll his eyes.

“Russians.”

“Oh, of course. So, what about the nurse, then?” Clint leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and head in hands as he listened to his companion.

“It didn’t work out.”

Tony could see Clint nodding, patting Matt on one shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear about that man. She sounds like she was really something.”

Steve cleared his throat beside him, drawing the attention their attention. Tony waved as Clint nearly jumped out of his skin, looking down only to find that they had company. Matt, for his part, had become rigid.

“Barton, would you care to explain why Matt is in the rafters?” Steve had raised one brow, possibly waiting to see if Clint, in fact, had an answer to that question that would satisfy the captain. Tony grimaced. Steve was worse than Piper when she got after him for this or that. Steve, for all extents and purposes, was the equivalent of a mother hen and most of the inhabitants of the tower knew it.

“Well, it just so happens that he is more comfortable up here than down there,”Clint offered with a shrug. “He says he is feeling fine.”

“Fine doesn’t always mean fine, Barton. Bring Matt down with you.”

***

Matt’s hand tightened around Clint’s arm once they had returned to the gym floor and the archer led him toward Tony Stark and the other male with a thundering heart who he could only guess was Captain America. He stood straight, rigid as they stopped before them, his free hand clenched, his head ducked. What he wouldn’t give for his glasses in this moment. He felt naked without them. Clint had assured him while they were in the rafters that he had nothing to fear from the Avengers, but it wasn’t fear that was the problem.

“I'm Steve Rogers, it is nice to finally meet you, Matt.” Captain America. He sounded more relaxed now, less tense. His heart had slowed down after Matt had reached the ground. Had he been worried? Why? “I would like to thank you for all you have done for this city.” Matt nodded, biting back the scathing comments that almost exploded from his tongue. His thoughts instead turned to Foggy, who would have killed to meet his idol, Captain America.

“See, I told you he’d be alright,” Tony said from beside him. Matt flinched back, having failed to notice that the male had moved in the first place. “Look at him, perfectly fine. He’s even walking on his own two feet.”

“That doesn’t make up for the fact that you left him on his own in the Tower,” Clint grumbled. Matt could feel his arm tense under his hand. Tony must have made some gesture, because the archer scoffed in response.

“Well you took him climbing,” Tony offered in response, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “He was able to survive that. Besides, it’s about time he met the rest of the team, right Lucifer?” Matt sent a glare in Tony’s general direction, stepping out from where his hand had been on his shoulder, his own shoulders hunched. “He’s pretty silent isn’t he?”

“He can speak for himself,” Matt muttered under his own breath. “I don’t speak asshole.”

“I’m wounded! Steve, he said a naughty word!” Tony cried out, a grand act coming from the billionaire playboy who played superhero on the side. Clint hid his laughter, chuckling at Tony’s theatrics.

“Most people don’t enjoy being talked about, Tony,” Steve replied. “How are you feeling, Matt?”
“I’m fine.”

“I think we need to start banning the word ‘fine,’” Tony said. “Perhaps we can move this to the community room? I am desperately in need cup of coffee.”
In what Matt assumed was the community room that Tony had spoken about, Clint guided him toward a couch where he could sit down, while he could hear Tony walk into an adjacent room and Steve took another seat nearby. In the other room he could hear the sound of running water, and somewhere else within the building he could hear footsteps and voices--other inhabitants. Other Avengers, Matt thought with a frown, remembering, not for the first time, just where he was. More than ever he felt trapped, caged in by the tower of metal and glass that messed with his senses.

“Matt, you should know that there is no one keeping you here against your will,” Steve spoke again, breaking the silence that had fallen over them since they settled down in their seats. “The team, myself included, are merely concerned about your welfare. We hoped you would be okay staying with us until your wounds heal.”

“Do I really have a choice in the matter?” Matt muttered with a frown.

“Well, I would rather not have you bleeding out on one of my lab tables again,” Tony called from the other room. “And you would make Peter sad. The kid has been worried about you all day.”
“Peter?” Matt caught himself speaking the question aloud, his brows drawn together in confusion. He remembered bits and pieces of the night before he woke up in the tower. Did he mean…Spider-Man?

“Peter brought you here,” Clint offered, confirming Matt’s thought. “And Tony is right, the kid has been worrying about you for some time.”

“I have other places I need to be,” Matt told Clint, who shifted on the couch beside him.

“Do yourself a favor and take up the offer, Matt,” Clint replied in the same tone, “Unless you have someone else to take care of you for a while?” The archer of the Avengers muttered something under his own breath at Matt’s silence. “None of us here want to find out Daredevil died in some back alley on the front page of the next newspaper. At least stay a few days, until we can be certain you won’t bleed to death if manage to reopen your wound.”

“Besides, Lucy here has yet to meet the rest of the team,” Tony said, closer now. He must have finished making his coffee and had rejoined the group in the common room. “I think it would be fair to say that we should call the team together for dinner tonight and formally introduce our guest.”

“Fantastic,” Matt muttered.

Chapter 4

Summary:

In which apples are thrown, Tony bans the word fine, and the Avengers are trying too hard to be helpful.

Notes:

I'm terribly sorry I took so long to update this! I will try to make sure that you guys don't have to wait so long for the next update. In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. :)

“Can you please explain again how he managed to open his wounds?” Matt could only faintly recognize the voice of the male that had spoken, but he winced as the man poked as his abdomen, seeming to have found the broken stitches where he had managed to reopen his wound. Beside him, he could hear Clint shuffling from foot to foot, his heart beating fast, his palms sweaty.

Guilt.

“Well,” Clint voice was hesitant at first. Matt could almost imagine that the man was rubbing the back of his neck by the sound of his uncertainty. “I figured Matt here was feeling a little cooped up in his room and I took him to the gym to...climb.”

“Uh-huh,” the man--a doctor, Matt decided with a grimace. Although he could tell the room they were in was certainly not a hospital, it still had a sterile stench to it that made his stomach churn. “Did you ever stop to think that that would be a bad idea?”

“Maybe once,” Clint admitted. Matt snorted.

“Well fortunately,” the doctor continued, seeming to ignore Clint’s comment for now as he returned to poking and prodding at Matt’s skin, to Matt’s discomfort, “You haven’t managed to cause too much damage and we will be able to fix it up in time for dinner.”
Matt resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that comment. Tony Stark’s words still echoed in his head.

Seeming to sense his line of thought, Clint clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, kid, it will be fun. You’ll get to meet the rest of the family.”

Matt had a sense that he and Clint had entirely different definitions of the word “fun” but he kept this line of thought to himself, instead focusing on his breathing as the doctor sewed in new stitches to close the wound once more and moving to wrap it with fresh bandages, tossing the bloody ones into the trash can beside him. Matt could still smell it, the scent stinging his nose. His grip on the edge of the metal table tightened as he felt himself sway forward.

“Gave us all quite a scare when you were brought in,” the doctor said, breaking the silence and dragging Matt back to the present. “We haven’t had the chance to be formally introduced yet. I’m Bruce Banner.”

“Matt Murdock.”

“Right,” Bruce replied. Matt could hear the snap of rubber glove being pulled off. “The lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen, I assume. You have done good work there.”

“I’m just trying to help make my city a better place, sir.”

“It’s just Bruce.”

Matt shrugged, wincing as pain surged through his abdomen. Right. Stitches. It would probably be a good idea to remember they were there. Regardless, his body decided to remind him “gently” this time.

“Right,” Clint said, inserting himself back into the conversation as he helped Matt off of the table, handing him a shirt to put on. “If we are done here, Bruce, we’ll see you at dinner, right?”

“I guess,” Bruce replied with a sigh. “Tony has made it mandatory.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot about that,” Clint replied with a chuckle.

Matt did roll his eyes that time.

“Hey now, it’s not going to be that bad.”

“I think I’m with Matt,” Bruce called from a few feet away with in the room.

“Bruce, I thought we were going to start being more positive around here?”

Bruce scoffed.

“Bruce?”

“I’ll see you both at dinner,” Bruce replied.

Matt felt Clint shrug behind him as the archer offered him his arm, which Matt accepted. On a good day, he might have managed to figure out his way around the tower, but he had already managed to get lost today and he was not taking another chance with that. Clint seemed relieved by his choice, if his the jump in his heart beat and his sigh of relief had anything to say about it. He promptly led Matt out of the room and chatted with him on their way down the hall.

“Don’t mind Bruce, he usually likes to keep to himself in his lab...which was where we just were, actually. He and Tony are usually up there talking about science for hours on end, not that any of the rest of us can understand anything they are saying. Freaking science bros.”

“Right,” Matt answered, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He wondered what Foggy was doing right now… Or Karen…Was Claire okay? It had been so long since he had seen any of them. It was for the best, though, right? He had made the right decision, he had to have, otherwise…

“Matt, you okay there?” Clint’s voice was laced with concern and Matt nodded slowly, ducking his head. His free hand caught up in his hair.

“I’m fine.”

“Right,” Clint said. Matt could hear his eye roll through his voice. “Last time you said that, you passed out five minutes later and we found out that you had reopened your wound. So, do you want to try again?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Matt snorted. “I’m better than before,” which was not entirely a lie. He was no longer bleeding out onto the carpet (Stark had definitely not been happy about that), and for all extents and purposes, he was alive and well. He should be happy enough, right? It had gotten him by until this point.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Clint said, interrupting his thoughts once more. “I meant what I said earlier. The Avengers--this team--it’s a family, and you would be welcome in it. For Pete’s sake, Tony is already talking about making you an official member!”

“No.”

“What?”

Matt closed his eyes, his head hanging back slightly as he took a deep breath, centering himself. “I don’t want to be on your team, Clint.”

A pause. He could feel Clint hesitate, nearly tripping over air as they continued to walk, rounding a corner and stepping toward the obnoxious hum of an elevator.

“That’s okay,” he finally said, but his voice betrayed him. It was definitely not okay, at least not to Clint. “When you are all healed up you can go back to being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I promise.”

***

 

“So,” Clint said as he led Matt toward what he assumed was the dining room, “You have already met Tony and Bruce…”

“The science bros.”

“Yeah, them,” Clint said. “And then there is Steve and Peter was the one that brought you here… So I guess all we have left is Nat and Thor.”

“Nat?” Matt questioned, one brow raised.

Clint chuckled, “Black Widow. Her names Natasha.”

“Ah.”

“Of course, Peter had to go home for the night so he won’t be at dinner, but the rest of the team will be there, so it should be fun, right?”

Matt did not answer that one and he could feel Clint sigh beside him. For whatever reason, the man was trying his best to make Matt feel at home here, but the entire tower felt strange and foreign to him. This was not Hell’s Kitchen, not his apartment, not the old office where he and Foggy had worked their asses off trying to make the city a safer place…He shook his head, stopping the thought from going any farther. No, he knew why he could not possibly feel comfortable here. Not when he was surrounded by the very individuals that gave rise to men like Wilson Fisk in his city.

How in the world could they expect him to feel at home?

“This is...uh, the dining room,” Clint said, breaking the silence as they came to a stop before what Matt assumed was a door. Beyond it, he could hear the muffled sound of voices chatting…the rest of the team, he assumed. Clint seemed uncertain beside him, but Matt only nodded.

Clint opened the door.

“Lucy!” Tony called from inside the room. Matt could hear the whirring, mechanical sound that came from his chest. The machine that supposedly kept him alive. He clapped a hand down on Matt’s shoulder. “How are you feeling kid?”

Matt held a grimace behind a tense smile. “Fine.”

“Geezus. Did you hear him?” Tony said to someone else with in the room. “He said ‘fine’ again. I swear I’m going to have to ban that word within the tower. Actually, scratch that. The word ‘fine’ is now officially banned within Avenger’s Tower until further notice.”

“Tony,” Matt tilted his head toward the sound of Steve Roger’s voice, whose footsteps sounded closer as he approached. His heartbeat drummed within Matt’s ears. “You can’t just ban a word.”

“It’s my tower, Cap. I do what I want.”

Steve sighed. “That’s not the way it works.”

“Eh.” Tony answered. “There’s no rule against it.”

“It’s called the freedom of speech, Tony.”

“I’m just going to ignore that you said that.”

“That’s usually the way things go around here,” Clint whispered to Matt, who just nodded. While he had already figured that Tony was strange enough as it was, the interactions between the Avengers team all seemed very...domestic, considering impact they had around the world. It did not fit into the image he had had of them within his mind.

“It’s fine, Matt,” Clint said, seeming to read his thoughts for the most part as he led him toward the table. “You’re with friends here. No one is going to bite your head off.”

Maybe not. Matt grimaced at Clint’s conclusion that he was feeling out of place among strangers. But perhaps that was not as far from the truth as he would like to think. They were all strangers to him, at least, they had been, and most of them still were. Clint was not that bad, sure, but the rest of the Avengers?

“I’m fine from here,” Matt said, and he felt Clint’s arm leave his as he made his way toward an empty chair, sitting down slowly, as if it was a bomb waiting to explode. If he had intended to be unnoticed and stay under the radar, that certainly seemed like it was not going to happen, as every individual that filed into the room seemed to be solely interested in him.

Goody.

The dining room, despite its apparent size, felt too small with figures like Thor within it. The entire Avengers team, minus Spider-Man, had filed into the room and chatted together like old friends before they found a seat at the table. Clint took a seat on one side of Matt, while Steve took the other and Matt almost felt like he was being guarded by the archer and America’s favorite soldier.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” Tony announced, taking long strides as he walked back into the room, “but I did have my personal chef whip up a dinner for us tonight. I thought it would only be fitting for this occasion.”

Matt could practically see Clint facepalm beside him.

“So, Matt,” Steve spoke beside him, being the first to start a conversation with him directly. He emphasized his name, as if trying to make a point to the rest of his team. “I heard that you are a lawyer?”
“You could say that.” He had not picked up a client in some time. His old files were probably still a mess on the table where he had left them. He had nearly left that entire life behind when Foggy and Karen left. He had almost given into the Devil entirely.

Steve fell silent as if wondering if he had said something wrong.

“He likes to climb,” Clint said, seeming to notice the awkward lull in the conversation. Matt had only wished that the archer had decided to start up a different subject. “Matt and I were chatting in the gym today, right?” He paused as he went to nudge Matt’s shoulder.

Matt shrugged.

“Pretty sure that’s how he ended up in my care...again…” Bruce’s voice quietly slipped into the conversation as Tony laughed.

Clint chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey now, I was just trying to help Matt feel a little more at home.”

“With parkour?” Tony asked, taking a break from his laughter.

“I had good intentions!” The archer said defensively. Matt could have sworn he heard a pout in the man’s voice.

“I will side with Barton on this one,” a booming voice said from the other end of the table, who Clint identified for Matt as the one and only Thor. “Daredevil is said to be a mighty warrior.”

“Even warriors can be wounded,” from the female voice, Matt could only assumed that it was Black Widow speaking in response to the Norse God. “You’re a bad influence on him, Clint.”

The Avengers team quickly fell into a debate of whether or not Clint’s actions were just, all the while putting Matt in the middle of the entire thing before Steve accused Tony of leaving Matt on his own in the tower without a second thought. Matt grimaced as the voices escalated, and Clint seemed to be trying to get everyone to calm down, to no avail. Each and every one of them were either talking about him or over him, fighting over who was right, who was wrong, and who knew what was best for the masked vigilante.

Matt wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. His ears were ringing with their voices, words swimming in his mind, joining the sounds of the city outside, clogging his senses. It was too much.

And then someone threw an apple at Matt’s head.
Time seemed to stop when Matt’s hand snatched the fruit out of the air, and, as one, the Avengers heads all seemed to whip in his direction. Clint would later tell him that their mouths were hanging open like fish.

Matt faltered, placing the apple on the table before standing up slowly and excusing himself.

“See he can fend for himself,” he heard Thor say as he slipped out of the room.

Chapter 5: "Fine"

Summary:

Matt and Steve take a walk.

Steve is a worried mother hen.

Matt needs a hug.

Notes:

Hey guys, thank you so much for your patience waiting for this chapter! I know it has been a long time, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this installment!

As kind of an explanation for this chapter, and maybe this fic as a whole, I have a headcanon that Matt struggles with anxiety and depression. Having anxiety myself, I tend to also have depressive episodes, as the two go hand in hand for me. I often allow my mental health experience to seep into my work, so this is kind of what happened when I sat down to write this chapter.

As always, enjoy the domestic fluff. <3

The room exploded after Matt left.

Clint found himself staring at the apple that sat in front of the empty chair as the avengers’ voices rose above him, shouting to be heard by the others. Most notably, he could hear Steve reprimanding the norse god for throwing the fruit in question at a blind man, to which Thor claimed that Matt was able to catch it and that, “he is a capable warrior.” Tony was too busy laughing his ass off about the whole ordeal, and Natasha had already slipped out of the room. Bruce looked ready to do the same.

He sighed, and resigned himself to figuring out where Matt had gotten off to, and making sure he was okay.

Sure enough, Clint found the man in the community area, where Matt had sat in front of one of the couches, his head hanging back on the cushions and his hands caught up in his hair. It did not escape him that the blind vigilante was covering his ears, as if trying to block out the noise of the other avengers who were still in the dining room.

“Hey,” Clint said, feeling terrible about speaking in the first place when he noticed the other man wince. He had had an idea that Matt had to have some kind of heightened senses or something to be able to do what he did, but he had no idea just how heightened they were. Just how much did Matt had to deal with? He shook his head, inching closer to him. “It’s me...Clint.”

“I know,” Matt answered. His voice was strained, and Clint could see the way his brows furrowed beneath his fringe. There was silence, before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen tilted his head toward him. “What do you want?”

Taking it as the best invitation he was going to get from the guy in his current state, Clint sat down by the other end of the couch, ensuring that Matt had enough space. The man was not too unlike Bruce when he returned to human form after “hulking out,” but Clint was sure that Matt had his own idiosyncrasies that he would have to learn how to navigate as well. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Clint admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked over at the other male. “You seemed a little overwhelmed back there. I was worried.”

Matt did not answer at first, instead just snorting, his shoulders hunched as his eyes drifted to the other side of the room, staring in no particular direction. Not for the first time, Clint marveled at how young the guy looked. How vulnerable. It was as if Daredevil and Matt Murdock were two sides of one coin. While Daredevil was intimidating figure that seemed to demand attention, Matt Murdock was the total opposite.

Clint almost wondered if the man had some form of social anxiety. It would explain his behavior back in the dining room. Actually...it would explain a lot of things about Matt.

“You know, it’s okay if you were,” Clint said, feeling like he was talking to himself more than anything with his current non-responsive company. “No one can blame you for that. I can let the others know to give you some space, if you’d like.”

Matt shrugged in response, but Clint figured it was a start.

 

***

 

Steve was in the kitchen early in the morning waiting for his coffee to brew when he noticed Matt slip into the room, one hand against the wall as he navigated the area. He seemed to hesitate as he noticed Steve’s presence, and quickly turned around.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he remembered how the the man had just as quickly escaped the dining room after the apple fiasco.

“Matt, are you hungry?” Steve called to the man, who paused in the doorway.

Matt didn’t have to answer him. Steve could practically hear the other man’s stomach calling out for food. He was not even sure the man had touched anything at supper last night before he had high tailed out of the room.

“You like toast?” It was worth a try, he supposed, and his attempt was rewarded with the sight of Matt edging into the room, albeit cautiously. Steve let out out a sigh, not wanting to push the man any farther. “I’ll put some in for you, okay?”

Matt nodded, finding a seat at the small dining room table. Not for the first time, Steve wondered what the man’s story was. How much weight was sitting on his shoulders?

“Sorry about last night,” Steve said, setting down a plate of toast in front of Matt, and sitting down across from the man, cradling his coffee in both hands. “Things got a little out of hand. We didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“It’s fine,” Matt said under his breath, but Steve couldn’t help but notice that none of the tension left his shoulders. He did not think it was too much of a stress to guess that Matt was keeping himself guarded, probably out of concern for his own safety, but consequently none of the avengers could get close to him outside of Clint, and even then, even he had mentioned that Matt was fairly closed off.

You didn’t look fine, Steve wanted to say, but he didn’t think pressing the issue any farther would help his case. Instead he picked what he hoped was a safer route. “I was going to go out on a run, would you like to join me?”

Matt raised a brow. Steve was happy to see that the man had at least taken a bite of his toast, and he swallowed it as he seemed to consider the offer. “I’m not sure that fits into the doctor’s orders.”

“Right, your stitches,” he chuckled softly at his own mistake, “a walk then, I’m sure you and I could both benefit from the fresh air.”

Steve was honestly surprised when Matt said yes.

“You okay, Matt?” He asked later as they were leaving the tower. Matt tilted his head to the right, as if confused, his brow furrowing at Steve’s question. For a moment Steve almost thought that Matt was actually looking around, but he had to remind himself that the man was blind, he couldn’t actually see.

“This isn’t Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt murmured, seeming to shrink into himself, his fingers fiddling with the hems of the sleeves of his hoodie, which was slightly too big for him. “This isn’t familiar to me.”

Steve blinked, caught off guard by Matt’s answer and his sudden vulnerability. It was not familiar to him? Steve could only wonder what that statement meant, but he did not feel it was his business to question it. This entire time Matt had been guarded, cautious. “Would it help,” Steve said slowly, testing the new ground. Like Clint, he wanted to help Matt, wanted to show him that he was safe with the team. “Would it help if I was your guide?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Your arm,” he said.

Steve nodded in response, offering his arm to Matt, who rested his hand on Steve’s forearm. For a moment, he noticed the other man’s tension fade, followed by a soft sigh in relief. He acted as Matt’s guide down the sidewalk, giving him a sense of safety in the unfamiliar neighborhood, but despite his previous state of vulnerability, their walk was silent for the most part. Steve was left to his own thoughts, which seemed to circle around questions about the other male, questions he was uncertain about voicing. It felt wrong to prod into the other man’s life. Everything that he had been taught as a child told him to leave Matt be, and let him open up when he was ready...if he ever was.

But this didn’t stop him from reviewing what they already knew about Matt Murdock, the lawyer by day and vigilante by night--the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Despite the contradiction between his day and night jobs, Matt seemed like a good man, and he had done good things as both a lawyer and Daredevil, including putting away Wilson Fisk, who had seemed to climb out of the wreckage of the Incident.

Steve shuddered at the thought. The guilt that had wormed it’s way in when the Wilson Fisk’s crimes were revealed to New York made itself known again. Matt should not have had to gone through all of that, not when it was his own team that had created the breeding ground that allowed for Fisk to thrive, but here Matt was, walking beside him.

But something wasn’t right, he thought. Sure, Matt was alive and able to tell his story, but he had a feeling that something had happened along the way. He had no idea what the man had been like before he had met him, but Clint had mentioned the Matt’s nightmare in passing, and the man had seemed so overwhelmed at dinner the night before. Even his behavior in the kitchen all seemed to point toward a poor state of mental health.

Watching him now, Steve nearly felt a small smile form on his face as he noticed how relaxed Matt seemed now, his eyes closed as he trusted Steve to guide him, his shoulders slumped, the tension washed away. Maybe it was the tower. Maybe the constant presence of other people was draining, Steve thought. He could only imagine that being able to walk away from that was a blessing.

Steve was about to turn a corner when Matt froze. Steve glanced over him to see his unfocused eyes wide, his jaw tight as his shoulders trembled, like he wanted to turn around and flee.

“Matt?”

Matt shook his head, his hand leaving Steve’s arm as he took several steps back. “We have to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Whoa, Matt,” Steve tried to keep a steady voice as he walked back to Matt, glancing over his shoulder, happening to notice two figures across the street, a man and woman who seemed to be talking before they noticed him. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

Matt only shook his head again, biting his lip. Steve found himself biting his own as he looked back over his shoulder, only to see the couple beginning to walk across the street. The closer they came, the more anxious Matt seemed to become.

Steve got the hint fairly quickly and guided Matt back down the street and out of sight of the two strangers, heading back to the avengers tower at a brisk pace, just slow enough that he could make sure Matt was okay and keeping pace with him, but fast enough to get them back to a safe place where Matt could have a chance to breathe.

Clint was in the common room when Steve made it back with Matt at his side, and the archer looked between the two of them, his mouth open already to ask a question, but Steve shook his head, glancing over at Matt, who had covered his head with the hood of his hoodie, seeming to hide within the pools of fabric.

Once Matt was safely in his room and Steve had made sure Jarvis was keeping an eye on him, Steve made his way back out to the common room where Clint was waiting.

“What’s going on?" Clint said, quick to jump to his feet. “Is Matt okay?”

Steve ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head as he sat down on the couch. “I...I don’t know. We were out for a walk, and he suddenly began to panic.”

Clint closed his mouth as he opened it to speak, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing back down the hall toward the room that Matt was in. Steve had watched the man slide down the wall, his head in his hands, knees brought up to his chest. He had not said a word to him since he had told Steve they needed to go.

“I think Matt might have anxiety.”

 

Chapter 6

Summary:

Peter finally get's to meet Matt.

They're both anxious.

Clint thinks it's adorable.

Peter had done his best to do as Mr. Stark told him, despite his growing curiosity about the man he had saved--Daredevil. For nearly a week he had been forced to bide his time since the last time he had seen him, just before Bruce had set to work stitching up the man’s wounds and Mr. Stark had shooed him out of the tower, telling him to go home for night--to stay out of trouble.

Well, as much trouble as a vigilante really could. It was not as if Peter was going to give up on his nightly patrols, and during the week that Daredevil had been in the tower, he had noticed that the man had not returned to his own patrols in Hell’s Kitchen, which worried Peter. Was he okay? Was he still had the tower? Was he even ALIVE?!

Mr. Stark had told him it was not the right time to come by, so Peter had taken to adding Mr. Daredevil’s patrol onto his, to protect the city while the man in red was recovering from his wounds (Peter hoped). At least with the whole patrolling and taking down bad guys, it gave him a distraction, something else to think about other than the blood seeping through Daredevil’s fingers and the way he had sagged in the alley way and…

Focus Peter.

He snapped back to attention to the men he was stringing up, leaving them for New York’s finest before taking his cue to leave the area, and with that, was the end of his distraction.

He packed his suit into his backpack, hoodie zipped up to his neck and his hands hidden underneath the hems of his sleeves so at least he could hide the way he fiddled with the thread that he had managed to pull free. It had been a week, but Mr. Stark had finally given permission to visit the Tower again, and his mind was filled with questions that needed answers, and he feared that if he opened his mouth he might just blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

He bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited on the elevator, having shown the woman at the front desk his card that labelled him as an intern to Tony Stark. For all extents and purposes, he was here to help Mr. Stark with some project or another in his lab--a white lie he could tell to keep his dealings with the Avengers and his other life as Spider-man a secret.

That night was still on repeat on his way up. He could hear his own voice telling Daredevil to stay with him...calling Mr. Stark for help, the feeling Daredevil’s weight on his shoulder as he swung his way toward the tower, and the entire time feeling the warm blood seep into his suit.

He took a deep breath before leaving the elevator, nearly missing the sound of Jarvis welcoming him to the tower. Peter rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head as he passed Bruce, who was probably heading back to his lab, but he stopped for a moment to nod at him. Peter nodded back.

It was a usual day in the tower, except this time there was an extra inhabitant.

“Hey Peter,” Peter spun on his heel at the mention of his name, coming face to face with Clint, who had just entered the room. “Didn’t think you were stopping by today.”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously, shaking the image of Daredevil’s unconscious body out of his mind. “Mr. Stark said I could come by and uh...See Mr. Daredevil.”

Clint nodded knowingly, “I’m not surprised. I actually thought you would have been here earlier, but…”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, finishing the sentence for him. The two nodded.

“To be honest, Peter, it was probably for the best,” Clint said, shrugging. “I mean, he was pretty overwhelmed the first few days...Daredevil, I mean.”

“So...He’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing okay.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension release from his shoulders as he did so. It was one less thing to worry about, and it was glad. He did not know what he would have done if he had found out that Daredevil was gone, that he had not been able to save him. Hell’s Kitchen needed Daredevil. The guy was hero! At least, well...he thought so.

Shuffling from one foot to another, Peter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Do you think I could see him?”

“Yeah man, you can see him,” Clint answered, one hand on Peter’s shoulder, causing Peter to look back up at the archer’s face. The man was smiling. He turned to lead the way and Peter fell into step behind him, his right hand worrying the thread on the hem of his sleeve. If Aunt May was around, she would probably would have lectured him about ruining his clothes. Fortunately, if Clint had noticed Peter’s quirks, he had not mentioned them. Instead, the archer stretches his arms above his head as they walked down the hall, toward where Peter had begun to learn was the residence area of the tower, where the team had their rooms. It should not have been that much of a surprise then, that they would give Daredevil a room of his own while he was recovering, since he was, in fact, still in the tower, if Clint’s word was anything to go by.

“He’s a nice guy,” Clint said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Peter nodded slowly.

“I uh...figured he would be, y’know? Like, behind the whole gruff front he puts up.”

“Gruff front, huh?” Clint seemed to ponder Peter’s words, something that made Peter rather confused. What was the guy behind the mask really like? Who was Daredevil? He was itching to know the man, to talk to him.

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly, glancing over at the archer. “He uh...intimidates people. It’s probably the horns.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, probably. The kid is…” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he paused in the hallway. “Well, he’s something.”

Peter waited for Clint to elaborate, but the archer didn’t speak any more on the subject, instead turning to knock on the door Peter had just realized they had stopped by.

“Hey matt,” Clint said, leaning against the door frame. “It’s me Clint. You have someone here that wants to meet you if that’s okay.” Peter isn’t quite able to hear what the voice beyond the door says--it’s muffled--but Clint smiles back at him. “Wait here, I’ll back in a moment.”

Biting his lip, Peter waits by the wall opposite of the door, wondering what is going on in the room. He had no idea what daredevil was like outside of his suit, and even the voice that he had heard seemed different--softer. It wasn’t the low, gravelly tone he remembered him using against criminals. No, it seemed almost…

Shy?

But that would be so weird. Almost all the avengers were larger than life--especially Mr. Stark.They were heroes...and so was Daredevil. He had almost expected him to be somewhat like Steve, a gentle giant of sorts. Clint had even said he was nice, so that made sense. He just didn’t…

“Peter, you can come in now,” Clint called from the doorway, gesturing for him to come in as nurse passed them. Peter watched as she walked away, eyes wide before looking back at the archer, who shook his head. “Just fresh bandages, don’t worry. He’s okay. Little tired, but okay.” Peter nodded, the thread from his hoodie held firmly within his grasp as he followed Clint into the room.

It was sparse, he realized as he looked around at the blank walls, the default sheets and comforter that Peter recognized as the ones the tower had on hand for guests from the times he had stayed the night...his eyes slowly drifted to the figure that was propped up on the pillows, his torso bare except for the fresh, white bandages around his abdomen.

“Matt,” he heard Clint say. Peter glanced up to realize the archer was standing by daredevil--no, Matt’s--side. “This is Peter. He’s the one who brought you here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, officially, Mr. Daredevil,” Peter said quickly, forcing himself to take a breath before he spoke again, slower this time. Calm down. “I’m glad to see you are okay.”

“Matt,” Daredevil answers, and Peter is shocked by how quiet his voice is at first. The man’s head his bowed, his face partially obscured by the fringe of his hair. “You can call me Matt.”

Peter licks his lips, nodding as his heart leaps into his throat. “Uh, Matt.” He is not sure if it's his imagination or not, but Matt looked really tense. There is a tension in his shoulders that Peter can feel within his own. He wonders what is going on in the other man's mind, if his thoughts are racing as fast as his are. “Peter,” he blurted out after he realized no one had said anything within the silence. “I mean, you can call me Peter.” God, that sounded stupid. Why did he have to sound so stupid in front of Daredevil of all people? Geez.

“I figured,” the voice that was Matt responded, followed by a soft chuckle. Holy shit, was he really making a joke? Peter looked to Clint, who seemed slightly surprised himself before seeming to relax, a sense of relief.

“I didn't know you were in a joking mood today,” Clint said, nudging Matt's shoulder, who shrugged in response.

“Feeling better, I guess.”

Clint frowns for a moment, but he doesn't provide further comment on the subject. Peter starts to feel out of place, as if he had already over extended his stay. He had seen the man, right? He was alive. That was what he came here for, and it didn't seem like Matt was much of a talker. He edged toward the door, wondering if Mr. Stark might need his help for something.

“You don't have to go, Peter,” Matt's voice calls back to him, stopping him in his tracks. Did the guy have the ability to read minds? “Make yourself comfortable.” It's an invitation, and Peter looks over to Clint for a confirmation before he takes a seat in the chair that Clint gestures to that sits by Matt’s bed. It feels like a long walk over to Matt’s side as Clint leaves his place from Matt’s other side.

“I'll just be in the common room if you need me, Peter,” he says as he leaves, “Same to you, Matt.”

Matt nods in response as Peter sat down the the door to the room closed with a definite click behind Clint.

Peter shuffled uncertainly in his chair, unsure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Thankfully, he doesn't have too.

“Thanks,” Matt said, his face doesn't face Peter, but instead his relaxed into the pillows, his eyes closed. “For uh...helping me.”

“Not a problem,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, what would Hell’s Kitchen do without Daredevil around? You are a hero!” Matt's brow furrows before his head turns away, seeming to look off at the other side of the room. Perhaps to keep Peter from seeing an expression?

“I wouldn't call it that…”

“I mean, you are though,” Peter said, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You helped put away Wilson Fisk and like, half of the police force that was under his thumb.”

Matt shook his head.

“You are a hero to Hell’s Kitchen,” Peter said, watching for Matt’s reaction to find nothing.

“How's school?” He changed the subject, Peter realized, and he found himself caught off guard. His cheeks reddened as he shifted in his seat, all at once Mr. Stark’s voice echoed in his mind remembering him to keep up on his studies, to leave saving the city to someone else.

“Uh, it's uh...school, but how do you…” Peter wasn't sure if Matt had even looked at him since he had come in the room, and the only other time he had seen him was as Spider-Man.

“Your voice gives it away,” Matt, glancing over his way, but his eyes don't quite look at Peter, but slightly over his shoulder. As if he was…

“Wait, you're blind?!”

Notes:

I had to end this chapter somewhere, as it was getting incredibly long. I haven't seen the new Spider-Man movie yet (I'm super poor right now) so Peter may be a little out of character, but I just figured I would write anxious teenage boy and go with it. Turns out that I enjoyed writing that little too much I ended up writing over 1k in one sitting, and finished the rest today.

I have a vague idea of where I am going with this fic, and I kind of wanted this chapter to set up for another fic I have in mind, so this might end up being a series of fics set in the same "universe" I have created. Mind-blowing, right?

As always, I hope you guys enjoyed the domestic-Avengers-fluff goodness and thank you all for continuing to read this work, it really inspires me to keep working on it. :)

Chapter 7: Authors note

Hello!! This is just a small update from your (hopefully?) favorite daredevil simp.

I’m excited to announce that I am now free from the hell scape that is academia (cause one round of schooling for a bachelors degree wasn’t enough… I decided to go put myself back into the trenches for nursing school)! So, while I am waiting on authorization to take the nclex I am excited to flex my writing muscles again and dive back into my favorite activity: making Matt get therapy (because my small ass town is too conservative for my gender-fluid bs sooooo therapy for fictional characters it is).

Please stand by while I reboot (currently at work typing this on my phone so that y’all’s comments can kick my adhd into gear to actually write again).

My fiancé found this fic via my very old tumblr account and read the first 3 chapters and told me that A LOT of you like this fic???? Holy shit. Thank you?!?!? My brain goblins could never let me believe that I’m actually a good writer ngl. Anywayyyy, I may have a beta? I guess?

 

 

Ps. I am dedicating this fic to my late fiancé. I know she’s watching me find my love of fanfic again and laughing her ass off, because of course it would take me 6 years give or take to let myself enjoy writing it again. Ao3 curse tried to strike but 🎶 I’m still standing better than I ever did. 🎶

Chapter 8: Too Sweet

Summary:

With great power comes… a lot of trauma actually.

Notes:

So hey, hello, hi! Short chapter for my return from the dead, bursting back into the daredevil scene like the Kool-aid man breaking down your mom’s freshly painted kitchen wall.

It’s your friendly neighborhood daredevil simp dropping off some hurt/angst for dessert tonight, because, between you and me, the past week or so has been rough.

Anyway, this chapter is a little shorter as it’s what I was able to type at work on my phone during my downtime. I finally got paperwork sent off to (hopefully) set up my test date to become licensed so I can look at changing jobs soon! Wohoo!

Feel free to find me simping over Matt and discussing fanfic writing (and possibly dropping bts snippets for you all) over at @heyblue on tumblr.

Trigger warning in this chapter for detailed descriptions of poor mental health from Matt’s POV.

The kids heart pounds rapidly, blood crashing in waves through his vessels. His breath was quick and shallow-sharp. 

“Peter,” he let out a slow sigh, the kid had already unleashed a ramble of apologies that felt like an avalanche to his ears. 

“Mr Daredevil I should never have said that I didn’t mean to insinuate that—“ A sob wracked through the kid. A trace sting of salt in the air.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

Silence. Only the kid’s sharp breath filled the room. Matt tilted his head toward the sound, brows furrowed. How much had Peter already been through? How much had he seen of the darker side to human nature?

The sharp sting of iron in the air and the splatter of blood. 

He ran a hand over his face with a groan as he attempted to reposition himself on the pillows. Peter protested, he could hear him getting up from the seat—Matt waved him down. 

“I’m not a hero,” he muttered, giving into his body’s limitations. Funny, how the young superhero thought he was. He wished he could live up to the kid’s vision of him.

Foggy and Karen are right.

”Mr. Daredevil,” Peter started again, quieter this time. Matt grimaced. He was the cause of the kid’s panic attack. 

I just hurt people. 


Peter’s voice sounded muffled in his ears, as if he were drowning, head underwater. His head spinning, hands over his ears. It was his fault. All he ever did was make things worse for everyone. He couldn’t even do right by Frank, he couldn’t do right by Ele—

A bone wracking, shoulder trembling, air trapped in his throat his chest tight as he scrambled for air—fuck! His fault. 

You don’t get to be the judge, jury and—

He tried. 

Matt tried to stop. He had to stop. 

He couldn’t. 

He enjoyed it too much. The taste of iron…the rush of adrenaline as he leapt through the air and, for a moment, he was flying. The feeling of bone crushing under his fists, fighting for the his people, for his city, maybe then he could sleep at night he—

He hurt people. He could never be like Peter, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He had heard the stories. He wasn’t the boogeyman of Hell’s Kitchen like Matt was. 

“Mr Matt?” 

He was a monster. They were right about the Murdock boys. There was a devil in him that wouldn’t be satisfied until it had had its fill of blood. The screams that tore from throats. The gurgle of a punctured lung. The creak of a fractured rib like an old ship. It was his curse. He would never be a hero. Never be loved. Never he wanted for who he was—what he was. 

And in the eyes of God he would always be a demon.