Prompt Post #3

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Comments

[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 4b/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)

[(Anonymous)]

The air tastes like gunpowder, and Matt’s ears are filled with the sound of Wesley’s rattling breaths.

“I’ll make sure he says nothing,” Matt says, his patience running thin. With every second Karen stays in this room, Wesley is closer to bleeding out. He needs to provide first aid, but not with her watching.

“How can you know for sure?”

“I do,” Matt growls, then shouts, “Go!”

His anger finally seems to shake Karen, and she backs away one step before she’s running for her bag and away from the scene, her heels clacking against concrete.

In a few steps, Matt is in front of Wesley, and he takes his shoulders and begins to lower him to the ground.

Wesley’s body tenses, his breath hitching with the pain, and his head turns toward Matt, following his movements as Matt reaches inside his suit jacket for Wesley’s phone. The smell of copper is overpowering, but he can still capture the lingering scent of Wesley’s cologne. Black pepper and sandalwood, rose and cinnamon, something far more unique an identifier than his watch, and a detail he had never mentioned with the feeling it’s too intimate.

With his free hand, Matt presses down on Wesley’s wound. The sudden pressure makes Wesley’s legs scrabble against the concrete, and his mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Only two days, and their roles are reversed. Now Matt kneels above an injured Wesley, holding his phone and his secrets in his hand. Matt dials 911 with the keen awareness of the opportunity he has in his hand, and tells their address to the operator on the line.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Matt says when he ends the call, dropping the phone to the floor and immediately putting his weight against Wesley’s wound. Wesley bucks uselessly against the pain.

“She’s going to panic,” Wesley says, breathless, when the worst of it subsides.

“I’ll find her later.”

“You… you need to control them, your friends.”

Control? Matt’s head turns toward him, but he doesn’t say anything. Everything is spinning out of control. Right now he can barely keep his own identity a secret, how is he possibly supposed to keep track of what all of his friends are doing?

“If Ben Urich tries to publish,” Wesley continues, his voice weak, “Fisk will know.”

“He won’t, he knows how dangerous it is.”

Wesley laughs, and it ends in a grimace. “Are you sure? Like he understood… the risk of going to visit Fisk’s mother?”

“I’ll talk to them. Now shut up, Wesley.”

Wesley’s head lolls against the concrete, his eyes slipping closed.

“Stay awake,” Matt snaps.

He’ll figure this out, make them leave the city if he has to. Claire could be right about telling Foggy his identity, if they know who he is, then they will take him seriously. He will take losing friendships any day over Foggy and Karen losing their lives.

The red in Wesley’s shirt is still spreading. Matt doesn’t know when the ambulance will get here, but he prays it won’t be much longer.

“You have… two choices,” Wesley says suddenly, his eyes on Matt. “Kill me, or hurt me.”

Matt freezes. “What?”

“If… I live,” Wesley says, his gaze drifting away from Matt towards the ceiling, “I will tell them.”

If Wesley had kept his knowledge a secret for just one day it would have been enough for Matt to warn them, but that’s not who James Wesley is. He is a man who has to make sure everyone only dances to his tune.

“Lie to them, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“They’ll know,” Wesley says, blinking slowly, “And it’ll be worse.”

How would they know? Matt wants to ask, Wesley is the one who controls the information, isn’t he? But Matt doesn’t know the details, he knows nothing about how their organisation works, what information they take for granted, if someone has been tracking Wesley’s car and his phone all this time.

“I don’t believe you,” Matt says quietly, “Tell them it’s Fisk’s rival, that they took you by surprise. You never saw their faces.”

“And the only thing they did… was shoot me in the chest?”

Matt opens his mouth for a retort, and closes it when he realises what Wesley is saying is true.

“So if I hurt you, you’ll lie for her?”

“Maybe,” Wesley says again with the slightest of smirks, voice barely a whisper, “Do a thorough job and I can claim I don’t remember.”

He’s serious, Matt realises with sudden clarity. He wants Matt to beat him, injure him worse than he already is.

“I could kill you.” By accident.

“Even better, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Matt finds none of this funny. He stays there, frozen, listening for the sound of sirens that still don’t come.

“I’m not going to hit you.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Wesley says, “Or do you want to get this over with?”

He thinks about Foggy, imagines his body broken and torn. Karen, eyes wide and unseeing, her lips blue. Claire, bruised and mangled, her hair matted with blood and dirt.

Matt’s hands clench into fists.

-

It’d be so easy, he realises in the moment his fist strikes flesh. If he uses just a little more force, if the ambulance takes that much longer, Wesley will die.

And his identity will be safe again. Karen, Foggy, Ben, they might all be safe.

Wesley loses consciousness after the second punch, and then it’s like hitting a ragdoll.

Matt only stops when he hears the sirens, and he falls to his knees, hands grabbing at Wesley’s chest, trying to staunch the free flow of blood. There’s water dripping from his eyes but he blinks them away.

Matt slips away just as the paramedics enter, focusing on Wesley’s breathing, his weakening pulse. Distance transforms both into silence.