daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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I can't wait for more. Oh god. From what I've seen of House (I'm only up to s1e18), he'll probably be very suspicious of all of those bruises and scars (he's a dick, sure, but he does think its BAD when a patient shows all the signs of physical abuse).
Oh man a thought just occured; what if Matt still has healing wounds (what am I saying? He DEFINITELY still has healing wounds) and a seizure opens up some stitches, and when House checks Matt's medical records, he doesn't find any instance of Matt showing up in a hospital with those types of wounds, and sends his team out to find out who the hell stitched him up.

Okay so I'm seeing a bunch of stuff with Matt being a horrible actor and worrying parents (which is hilarious) but, like, what if he just tells, for instance, Kamala's parents. "She came over to study with Kate, but they're both asleep. Is it okay if she stays the night?"
Because I feel like that would go over a lot better and also it would bring up a lot of feelings if he, say, referred to one of them as his kids.
Cue the Baby Superhero Club ("It's all Peter's fault!") calling Matt 'Mom' and him trying to act all annoyed but everyone can clearly see he's tearing up.
("IT'S THE LIGHT." Matt insists, and sniffs.
"You're blind, Matt." Peter reminds helpfully.
"SHUT UP I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYE."
"I thought it was the light?" Kamala says with a smirk.
"THE LIGHT GOT SOMETTHING IN MY EYE, OKAY?"
"That's not poss--" Kate is suddenly cut off.
"DON'T QUESTION ME OR YOU'RE GROUNDED."
"It's okay," Peter says, "we love you too, Mom."
Matt is totally not crying during the huge pile that is the group hug.)

Matthew Murdock: simultaneously the most awkward and somehow the best mama duck ever.

(of course, OF COURSE, this means that logically, Foggy is the dad of this group, and Karen and Claire are the cool aunts. it's the strangest family any of them has ever belonged to, but that's the thing, it's family and Matt is. Matt hasn't had that in a while, at least not one this big.

which is, probably, why he maybe sniffles a bit while Lilo & Stitch is playing and the kids are narrating. but don't mention it or he'll insist that it's dust, this place is really dusty.)

Foggy still hadn't spoken. It had been days, and Foggy hadn't said one word, not since before Matt had initially found him in his apartment and called Claire. He was awake, and aware of his surroundings, which was a relief. He was eating. He was functioning. But not entirely. Not enough to leave his apartment, or think about their clients, or return to his normal life. Karen and Matt had been taking turns keeping an eye on him and holding down the fort at their office. Neither of them knew what would happen now, how much better they could expect Foggy to get, whether or not they would be able to continue to keep his power a secret. And neither of them were talking about it. It was as though they both believed that if they didn't voice it out loud then they would never have to deal with it. And so the apartment was always unusually quiet, even as their emotions spoke to one another noisily between rooms. Even as Foggy's warmth and love saturated it, from the carpeting to the ceiling and outwards.

The silence worried Matt, but whenever it did he remembered that Foggy knew it worried him, then worried about that, and then had his worry amplified and thrust back at him through their connection. It was an entirely new sensation, like a feedback loop, and one that Matt didn't know if he would ever get used to. One that he didn't know if he would even have to get used to. Was the connection permanent? Would it get stronger, or slowly fade? He had no way of knowing. The entire thing was confusing, and made Matt deeply uncomfortable. He didn't like feeling so completely exposed, so vulnerable.

But then Foggy knew that too now. There was nothing Foggy didn't know about him. In just a few short months Matt had gone from feeling completely alone to forging bonds he didn't know were possible, from keeping so much from Foggy to being an open book who Foggy could read as easily as he breathed.

And then there was Karen to factor in. Matt knew that Foggy had forged a similar connection to Karen. Foggy had been able to occasionally project things she was feeling towards Matt, to help him understand what he was feeling too. But Matt wasn't certain how the woman fit into what was going on, or how much Foggy was sending to Karen about Matt.

He liked Karen. He really did. But he wasn't as close to her as Foggy clearly was. Maybe it was because in the early days of their friendship he had missed so many opportunities to bond with her because of his need to be on the streets. Maybe it was because he deliberately distanced himself from her at times because he knew she found him attractive. Maybe it was because she had spent so much time during their initial conversations together lying, and so had he. But the fact that Karen might know him the way Foggy did, the fact that she knew Foggy the way he did, made Matt more than a little disturbed and jealous.

"Wrong," was the signal Matt got from Foggy as he lay next to Foggy on the living room rug contemplating the situation. The pair had been listening to Matt's iPod together, Foggy with the headphones in and Matt just there next to him. Foggy had always hated jazz, but for some reason now couldn't get enough of it and seemed settled by it. Matt suspected that it had to do with how much he loved it and the good feelings he associated with it. It made Matt happy to share it with him.

Matt knew that Foggy thought that he was wrong about Karen in a lot of ways. The emotions that Foggy projected towards him when he thought about Karen were becoming familiar, like an old argument long since past the point of hard feelings. Foggy knew that Karen was still lying to Matt and had a secret, but wouldn't share with Matt what it was. Foggy thought that Matt should tell Karen about Daredevil, that it was the right thing to do. Foggy thought that Matt had to be honest with Karen about everything, and was certain that Matt would feel better if Karen was honest with him. Foggy knew, and Matt wasn't even sure how he could know if Matt didn't, that Matt and Karen loved each other the way he loved them.

Matt trusted Foggy completely, but he had spent too long being terrified of his own abilities, of what he was capable of, to take the step of confessing to Karen. The thought of it made him remember that horrible day when he'd had to withstand Foggy's accusations and anger, the way it had felt when Foggy had finally walked out the door. Now, with the three of them all being so emotionally intertwined, what would happen if Karen knew the truth? If she blamed Matt for Elena's death, or Ben's? What would it do to Foggy if she left now?

"Wrong," Foggy signaled again, accompanied by feelings exasperation and impatience. "You're both wrong. Idiots."

Matt craned his neck towards the door as Karen entered the apartment juggling grocery bags with her keys before settling everything onto the kitchen counter. "Hi," she said, and Matt knew it was more for his benefit than Foggy's. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and Matt knew it meant that she was nervous about something.

"Hi," he said back, sitting up.

She moved to put the groceries away in the kitchen, but she had brought a tension into the apartment that was palpable.

"Talk to her," Matt felt Foggy insist. "Please." And suddenly Matt felt Karen at the edge of his consciousness, or at least the feelings that Foggy was able to convey that belonged to her. Fear of rejection and abandonment. Anxiety. A bone-deep weariness at knowing what's about to happen. The feelings were so close to his own that it startled him. What possible reason could she have to think that he would reject her?

Next to him, Foggy sighed softly, and Matt knew that the time had finally come to tell Karen the truth. He just had no idea how to do it.

"Karen," he said, "I have to..."

"No, Matt," she said firmly, cutting him off. Matt could tell that she was supporting herself on the kitchen counter to keep herself from shaking apart, but there was a steely resolve in her voice that he recognized as distinctly hers.

"I have something to tell you," she said. "It's important, and it will probably shock you, but I just need to put it out there and so I'm sorry if this seems blunt or is upsetting. I..." She seemed to be struggling to continue, her breathing quickening and her resolve seeming to weaken. "I'm so sorry. I can't..." Tears started to fall and she looked at Foggy, who took off the headphones and went to her, pulling her into his arms.

Matt was confused, but then he felt Foggy's familiar presence expanding into his mind's eye, and he could see. Really see, but not the room around him. A memory, he realized. Karen's memory. She shot Fisk's assistant. He could picture it - the smug arrogance on his face, and then the crimson red of the all the blood. He could feel Karen's terror, but also the calm and sense of power that came over her as the shots were fired. She had killed someone. And not for the first time.

Suddenly, another image, another memory. One that was much more wildly emotional, of a man laying on top of Karen, pinning her down, of helplessness and rage. Matt forced the memory away. He didn't want it. It didn't belong to him, and he had no right to it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he heard Karen repeating into Foggy's shirt between sobs as he finally came back to the room, once again seeing nothing but sensing everything.

"Karen..." he said in a daze, standing up and making his way towards them. "It's..." he realized what a lie it would be to tell her everything was okay. "I understand," he said instead. "I do. You did what you had to do."

"No," she said sadly. "I don't deserve that. I should go." She pulled away from Foggy, but he held her tightly and looked panicked at the thought that she might leave. So Matt stepped towards her, knowing what he had to do.

"I'm the man in the mask," he said. "I'm Daredevil. I'm the one who saved you that night in your apartment."

"What?" she asked.

"I would do it again too, Karen," Matt said. "Even knowing what I know. Without hesitating. Because you're a good person. You do deserve our understanding, and our forgiveness even if you can't forgive yourself. I just wish..." Matt began to cry too. "I wish that I could have been there. That you hadn't had to make that choice. It was my fault. Everything with Fisk. Mrs. Cardenas. Ben. It was never on you, Karen. After everything you went through, don't put that on yourself too. It was my responsibility."

"No, Matt," Karen said, "All any of us ever wanted was to help people and do the right thing." Matt felt Foggy send him the shock and awe that she was feeling at his revelation.

"How?" she asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Matt asked.

"More sure than I've ever been about anything in my life," she said.

Karen looked over at Matt as he sat, still and serene, in the corner of the room on a pillow on the floor. Next to her, Foggy lay asleep on the couch.

They had finally forced Foggy to take a sleeping pill after two and a half days spent alternating between pacing and crying, barely eating and refusing to settle down. They understood why. He radiated waves of emotions of varying intensity at them when he was feeling overloaded. Together, Matt and Karen tried to help him but it was a nearly impossible task given that they didn't even understand the bond that they had forged. It was all trial and error, and none of them had any clue if things were progressing and getting better or not. It was frustrating.

With Foggy asleep, this was only the second time since his confession that Karen had gotten the opportunity to watch Matt meditate. He had explained to Karen how much it helped him and how much he relied on it to keep him from becoming over-sensitized and disoriented, but Foggy's emotional state usually prevented him from focusing or withdrawing into himself without causing a panic.

She wondered if the need to protect the streets of Hell's Kitchen, to be Daredevil, also ran deeper than Matt wanted to admit. He hadn't been able to go out in the suit in weeks, since they were hesitant to leave Foggy alone and unsure what would happen if he got hurt and Foggy sensed it. It meant he was more on edge than usual, feeling claustrophobic and trapped by their connection. They could all feel it. It intensified the situation with each passing day and was wearing all of them down.

As exhausting as it was, it fascinated Karen. Matt fascinated her, which she knew he found both amusing and irritating in almost equal measure. She couldn't help it. She wondered how she got so lucky to have met and ended up part of such a powerful bond with two men with such unique and amazing gifts. What did she do to deserve them? She had only ever been more trouble than she was worth, she was certain.

"Matt," she finally asked. She waited, and after a minute his eyes opened and he shifted positions so that he was facing her, a small smile on his face.

"You do realize I'm trying to meditate, right?" he asked, with only a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Sorry," said Karen. "I'm just..." she trailed off, realizing that she shouldn't have interrupted him.

"Bored?" Matt asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said, even though she now knew that she didn't have to say it out loud. "It's quiet without you guys."

"Without Foggy, you mean?" Matt asked.

"No," said Karen. "You too, Matt." Matt smiled, and for the first time in a long time it was relaxed and reflected genuine happiness. It made Karen happy too, and she wished that Foggy were awake so that they could both really feel it bouncing back and forth between them, humming through the connection Foggy facilitated for them. With him asleep, things between her and Matt were trickier, more awkward.

"Where did you learn how to meditate?" Karen asked. "Or was it just instinct as you figured out how to use your..." she tried to find the appropriate word, "abilities after your accident?"

"I had a mentor," Matt finally said. "Blind, like me. Well, not exactly like me. He taught me how to control my senses, make them work for me rather than against me. He taught me to fight too. In case you were wondering." Matt was clearly uncomfortable at having to answer the question.

"Huh," Karen said. "So you could teach Foggy then, couldn't you? Help him learn how to control all of the emotions he's picking up on? How to meditate, and how to harness the power he has into something he can use?"

"Me?" Matt asked. "No. What Foggy's going through is completely different than what I went through, Karen. Besides, I wasn't even a very good student, so I can't imagine I'd make a very good teacher."

"You weren't a very good student?" Karen said, surprised. "I can't imagine that being true, Matt. Foggy's told me some pretty intense stories from your law school days. Plus, I've seen you fight. There's no way you weren't a teacher's pet, with those moves."

Matt looked pained. "Trust me, Karen, I know it seems like I know what I'm doing, but I don't. I never have."

Karen never did know when to let something go, and so she pushed the issue. "Come on, Matt. That's crazy! I think we should at least explore the possibility that what you learned could be applied to Foggy's situation. Maybe you could really help!"

"Leave it, Karen," Matt said forcefully, and suddenly Karen experienced the sensation of a memory intruding into her mind. She saw a blind man standing above her wielding a cane like a weapon, felt it beating down on her legs and arms, heard insults hurled like daggers slicing into her, sharp and pointed. As the memory faded, she realized that Matt had crumpled to the floor, upset. There was a hand gripping her wrist, and she followed it to see Foggy staring intently at her, crying, his breathing ragged. "Leave it," she felt.

"No," was the message she sent out forcefully to both of them. She looked again at Matt, felt how he did, small and worthless. It wasn't right. "You were a child," she told Matt. "You were a child and what he did was wrong. He was wrong. There is nobody out there who I have ever met, who he could ever have met, who tries harder, is as determined, is as loyal and smart and kind as you. That shithead never deserved you, Matt. Don't you dare let him make you feel that way. He's not worth it."

She felt a triumphant surge of emotion coming from Foggy, knew that he was agreeing with her and sending the full force of their reassurance and certainty to Matt. She felt Matt calm and heard him chuckle. "I know, Karen," he said finally. "I forget sometimes, so thank you for reminding me, but I know."

"Foggy needs you," Karen told him. "We both do. We believe in you."

"I still don't know if the things Stick taught me, the things I taught myself, will be useful," Matt said. "But maybe. We could try." He looked at Foggy, and got a nod in response.

Matt frowned as he flipped the pancakes in the frying pan, one ear perked up like he was listening for something.

"Is something wrong?" Karen asked as she got ready to leave to check in on the office and pick up necessary files so that Matt could work from Foggy's apartment.

Matt sighed. "No, nothing. Just listening to Foggy singing to himself in the shower. He's doing Les Mis today. Yesterday it was the soundtrack to the movie Beetlejuice." He chuckled to himself, but Karen could tell that it was a desperate attempt to lift his own spirits.

"It's nice to hear him sing, isn't it?" she said.

"I just..." Matt said, stumbling over his words, "I wish it wasn't the only time I heard him do it anymore. I miss the sound of his voice, Karen."

"I know," Karen said, and she thought that she did.

"No," Matt said, slamming his hand down on the counter. "You don't. Because you get to see him, Karen. You get smiles and tears and silly faces. His voice - the way he used to joke and fill the silence with nonsense, the way that he would narrate the world for me that I couldn't experience, gestures and television and even the weather - that was all I had with him for so long. And as much as I love being able to feel him, know what's going on in his head, and being able to share things with him that I've never been able to share with anyone, it's not the same. I love him now, I do, but I miss who he was."

"Matt," Karen said gently as she headed towards the door, "You know he knows that, right?"

The bathroom door creaked open, and Foggy's slowly stepped out in his robe and clutching a towel like a security blanket.

"I'm going to leave you two alone," Karen said. "I'll be back in a little while. You two don't party too hard while I'm gone." The door shut with a thud behind her that seemed to echo in the quiet of the apartment.

"I'm sorry," Matt said finally. "I know how hard this is for you. It's selfish for me to want something you can't give me. For me to make you feel bad about any of this."

Foggy walked towards Matt and shook his head no. "Matt," he finally said and Matt gasped when he saw Foggy's lips move as he said it, heard his voice for the first time in weeks. "I'm sorry," Foggy said. "I got caught up in all this. I didn't think it meant that much to you."

"Of course it does," Matt said. "It meant..." but he stopped himself "means," he corrected, "everything to me."

"Okay," Foggy said, and he hugged Matt to him. "I'll try. I promise I'll try."

Matt just cried softly into his shoulder while Foggy rubbed his back.

"Do you want me to do Les Mis out here for you? The acoustics aren't as good, but the shower won't distort it." Matt laughed at him, a feeling of relief sweeping over him that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. "Since you like my voice so much," Foggy continued, "Despite you telling me in college, oh what was it again... that it reminded you of a cat being run through a wood chipper? It was very descriptive, I remember."

Foggy laughed too. He had forgotten how great it felt and resolved to make it happen more often.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Matt asked as he packed his laptop into his bag.

Foggy laughed at Matt's fussing, and gently sent him feelings or reassurance.

"I know, I know," Matt said with a smile. "I'm a mother hen. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I worry about you."

"I know, buddy," Foggy said, "But I'll be okay. I need you as a partner more than I need you as a friend today. Because of me, we haven't picked up enough business lately to make sure we can keep the lights on, so you and Karen need to make this one count. Land this client, Matt. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" Matt asked.

"Yeah!" said Foggy, "I've been really getting into the zone with you when we meditate, and all those techniques you taught me - the breathing exercises, how to find focus points - they've been really working. Go, already!"

Foggy practically shoved Matt out the door and locked it behind him, reaching out to ensure that he hadn't been too rude. It amused him that Matt seemed to be having a harder time letting go than he did.

As Foggy leaned against the door, he was pleased to find that even as Matt got further away, he could still feel him on the edge of his consciousness, and could feel Karen even though she was already at the office. They were a part of him now, and knowing that helped him calm himself as a flood of emotions battered him and a mild panic began to rise in his chest.

He breathed deeply and counted the breaths as Matt had taught him, then closed his eyes and set to work separating the various emotions happening around him into distinct thoughts, feelings and memories belonging to individual people. In the past few weeks, he had learned that taking the care and energy to separate them helped him keep them separate from himself and establish the distance he needed to function. It was tiring, but he was getting better at it. He hoped that someday he could learn to do it instinctively and effortlessly, the way that Matt had learned to block and use his senses as necessary.

As he slowly sifted through all of the emotions happening around him, he became aware of a particular set of strong feelings coming from the other side of his front door. There was a child there. And they were having a panic attack.

He opened the door a crack and peered out. His neighbor's son was sitting on the floor, banging his head against his own front door repeatedly. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. He looked up and caught Foggy staring, gasping in surprise. Foggy panicked and slammed the door quickly.

Slowly, he opened it again so that the kid could see him. "Hey," he said. "Where's your mom?"

"I don't know," said the boy. "She was supposed to be here when I got home from school."

"You don't have a key?" Foggy asked.

"No," said the boy. "She's always here."

The kid was freaked out. Where the hell was his mother?

"Does your mom have a cell phone?" Foggy asked. "You could use my phone to call her."

"I don't know her number," said the boy. "Where is she? She's supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be home alone."

"I'm sure she's fine," he said, and Foggy gently reached out, worried that the boy would sense what he was doing even if he might not know how he did it, and tried to send a sense of calm and reassurance his way. He visibly calmed, and Foggy breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I'm Foggy," he said.

"That's not a real name," said the boy.

"Is too," Foggy insisted, sensing that the boy might respond to him stooping down to a child's level. Kids always loved that, he knew.

"I'm Mark," came the response, accompanied by a small smile.

"I'll tell you what, Mark," said Foggy, "why don't you come in and wait with me for now, and I'll see if maybe the super has your mom's number so we can find her."

"Okay," Mark said, shuffling through Foggy's front door with his backpack in his hand.

While Mark got settled on the couch and turned on the television, Foggy looked up the super's number in his own cell phone and made the call. The conversation was brief, but productive. The super couldn't give out another tenant's phone number, but he agreed to call Mark's mother to let her know what was going on.

With that out of the way, Foggy hesitantly took a spot on the couch next to Mark, who had found an episode of Spongebob Squarepants to watch.

"What's wrong with you?" Mark asked abruptly.

"What?" Foggy asked. "That's a really rude question. Why would you think something's wrong with me?" He knew that there was no malice behind it, only a child's curiosity.

"My mom says that you're weird. I heard her talking to Mrs. Owens on the other side of us, and she said that you're a drunk," Mark said. "Mrs. Owens said that you stopped coming out but that you had friends living with you and she's talked to them. She said you must be hard up if a blind guy's the one taking care of you. I've seen him around sometimes with his sunglasses and his cane. He's real serious all the time. Are you dying?"

Foggy giggled at the child's stream of consciousness train of thought. "No," he said. "Not dying. Just having a hard time, like Mrs. Owens said. Boy, this building's full of busybodies. How did I not know that before?"

Mark shrugged like he didn't know, and Foggy appreciated how literally the kid took his question.

"My friend Matt is really serious all the time, isn't he?" Foggy asked.

"I'd be serious too if I couldn't see anything. I'd have to concentrate real hard to know where I was going," Mark said. Foggy liked Mark a lot.

"Do you have homework or something you should be doing?" Foggy asked.

"Nope," said Mark. Foggy knew he was lying, so he turned off the television. Mark whined and threw his arms up in the air like he was having a seizure. But eventually he pulled a stack of homework out of his backpack and spread it over Foggy's coffee table.

Later that night, Matt went to put his keys in the door, but was surprised to find it open. When he and Karen entered, their eyes widened at the site in front of them.

There Foggy sat, surrounded by a half-dozen moms from the building, listening intently as they gossiped and complained while their kids sat at his dining room table with coloring books open. "I cannot believe he did that to you!" Foggy said, and Matt and Karen recognized through their connection to him that Foggy was actually encouraging the women to continue, sending them feelings of confident empowerment as they dished. "I know, right?" one of the women said.

Foggy noticed that his friends were home and looked up, a sheepish grin on his face. "Oh, uh, hi guys!"

"Hi," they said, not sure what exactly they were looking at. As Karen looked over at Matt, she was amused by the wide grin on his face, fondness apparent. In her head, Karen could almost hear Matt saying "That's just like Foggy, isn't it?" and realized that maybe all the time she and Matt had spent together had bonded them too, even if they didn't have mutant powers.

I'm glad you're excited! I hope I can keep living up to your expectations. =)

Awesome.

Haha, that's good! My timetable is full on this term so I'll try and get this finished soon else it'll have a long hiatus.

There was more to the world around them than they could pick apart. Even Stick admitted as much. Talking for hours about things that seemed to have no more substance than mist in the morning, otherworldly and without shape. The soulbond being one of them. And even then it was only to tell him how he should forget about his. How they would hold him back. Make him weak, vulnerable. But still, he knew some things. He'd been born with his mark. With the scratchy cursive script taking up nearly the entire span of his inner arm from the joint of his shoulder to the vein that signaled the taper of his wrist. Meaning that either they'd taken their first breath together, or his bonded was older than him.

He'd always imagined older. He'd never exactly been able to explain why. Just like could he couldn't figure out why, whenever he could afford it, he favored Russian vodka over anything else. Why sometimes, in the dead of winter, he'd smile when the bitter chill hit his skin. Why he sometimes ordered his coffee black and strong when he preferred it laced with cream and sugar.

Or why one day, he woke up in the middle of their dorm room screaming and clutching at his face. Feeling the hot burn of phantom steel slicing through his skin. Slicking his face with blood that he could actually feel rolling down the imaginary bruises. The blade – because he knew it was a blade - barely missing his left eye as Foggy fell out of his bed on the other side of the room with a resounding thud. Grabbing him by the shoulders and murmuring about nightmares as his best friend held him through the aftershocks. Hiccuping long into the night as a pain that was not his own throbbed hot and infected across his skin.

And for the first time in a long time, he wondered.

It was Saturday morning when Vladimir dragged himself back into the waking world by his finger nails. He sensed the change in the air as he rolled out of bed and slipped on a t-shirt. Head cocked as he listened to the subtle grunts and hisses of sucked in air as the Russian seemed to take stock of himself. Filling the quiet with the tart of sweat and escaping crimson as several of the man's stitches pulled tight in warning.

It was stupid, but he found himself almost smiling. Buoyed by a strange sort of excitement as he let his senses drink it in. The man was stubborn. Already pushing himself harder than he should be. He was hungry and in desperate need of a shower. Tinting the air with what he figured was a usual dose of aggression, as far as Vladimir was concerned, as the springs on his third-hand couch pinged sharply.

He gave him a handful of moments before he slipped on his mask and exited the room. Deciding to play it safe and hold off the inevitable for as long as he could. Thinking that a dose of the familiar was probably in order, at the very least.

Or not.

Vladimir ended up pulling three stitches and gave him a bloody nose – apparently for no reason at all - before he sagged back into the couch. Cussing out a blue streak in Russian as he clutched his side and looked about the room wildly. Panting like a wounded animal as the tang of adrenaline and fear coated over the room like an unwelcome balm.

He just sighed and got out the suture kit.

It was going to be a long day.

"What was it?" he asked, tone quiet, almost restful if he hadn't been repairing the stitching on Vladimir's side with careful delicacy. Feeling his way through every pinch, tug and pull as Vladimir remained still and strangely silent above him. Bare feet curling into the shitty wood floor every time the needle snick-snicked through the tight skin just below the man's ribs.

"How did you know?"

"Know what, man in mask?" Vladimir snarled, tired and pissed off after his brief surge of activity effectively winded him. Scenting out the bitter edge of frustration and impotent uncertainty as the man watched him work.

"You know what," he snapped, tying off the repair job and feeling his way to the next one. Double checking. Sensing the man's disapproval, or maybe just confusion at the extra contact.

"You let me leave," he returned, more than a little accusing. Tugging pointedly on the poking threads of one of Claire's stitches. Making the Russian suck in a breath and spit out a muffled curse. "You knew and you let me leave."

He listened to the ragged harsh of the man's breaths before he answered. Remembering the moment in the tunnels when he'd turned. Sensing the change in the air as Vladimir used the butt of the gun to ease his way to his feet. Refusing to let him come near as the sounds of Fisk's men making their way down the tunnel grew louder and louder in his ears.

Maybe I stay.

"Da, I did."

"Why?"

But Vladimir just shook his head, like he figured he was being particularly stupid on purpose. "I was dead. Burnt meat, yes? Thanks to you and your little flare. 'Vas dead weight. Slow you down. But if you made it out, I would to, in sense. You deal with Fisk. Avenge my brother. Live. Seem like not bad deal to dead man," the man shared, wincing as he tried to straighten his back up against the couch.

His hand fell on the man's thigh without thought. Grounding him. "You'll pull your stitches again," he rasped, trying to cover the instinctual reaction with something excusable. But judging by the quickening tempo of the Russian's heartbeat, he knew. Of course he did.

There wasn't much you could hide from your one. Especially after you'd found them. After all, what was the point of hiding anything from the other half of yourself? Having a soulmate was rare enough, but actually finding them? The odds were, well, astronomical. It was because of that that the actual effects of the bond were hard to study or pin down. Even during law school the data required for cases where soulmates were involved were criminally hard to come by. He felt like he was flying by the seat of his pants as far as this whole bond thing was concerned, only that he was only one worrying about it. Vladimir wasn't-

"I got you out of there," he pointed out, fist tightening brutally as one of the splits opened at the seams. "I could have gotten us both out. You didn't have to-"

"Maybe, maybe not. I not want to take chance," Vladimir answered, somehow making the flippant collection of words come out surprisingly firm. Like he meant every word but didn't want him to catch on. "You bled more than enough that night, malen'kiy d'yavol."

The Russian word was unfamiliar, but the cadence wasn't. It sounded almost like-

"Good thing my one is as stupid as he is reckless," Vladimir hummed, posture losing some of its rigidity as he coughed shallowly. "I not admit wrong often, I do now. I think you do both."

"But how did you know?" he repeated, feeling more than a bit like a broken record as he tried to replay everything he'd said in that tunnel. I am not a killer? No. That couldn't be it. Vladimir had just laughed at him when he'd said it. Like an adult chastising a naughty child.

"Why not see for self?" Vladimir shot back, apparently determined to be an unhelpful bag of dicks about it as the tendons in the man's right thigh tightened and released like a half-answer. "Thought man in mask would have looked for self while napping."

Ah.

Well, they'd have to get this part over with sooner or later.

"That would be difficult," he admitted, wiping his hands on his pants before reaching up, deftly untying the knot that held his mask together.

"Difficult?" Vladimir parroted suspiciously, stare hard enough that he knew he was watching him closely. Taking in every moment as he slowly unwound the dark cloth that hid the upper portion on his face. "How difficult is to open eyes and see? Vy ne imeyet smysla dlya menya, amerikanskiy. Do you take me for fool? I am not-"

But Vladimir never finished, he was too busy staring when he pulled the rest of the cloth away. He kept his head bowed for a fraction of a beat before he raised it. Fixing the Russian with a bland, sightless stare. Uncertain of what to do or what it meant when Vladimir sucked in a breath and almost choked on it.

"As you can see…not being able to see is actually part of the problem here," he remarked after a long pause. Deciding to take the initiative and fill the silence as the man's heartbeat started to dip, slowing strangely despite the semi-audible creaking that had started issuing from the armrest, where the Russian was gripping it – hard.

"Blind?" Vladimir demanded, lips twisting. The word was phrased like a question even though he knew the man wasn't actually looking for an answer. "How is this possible? You fight! I have seen it! This is trick. Ty shutish'! Eto nevozmozhno! Posmotri na menya!"

The utter indignance was what made him grin. He thought about saying half a dozen things. Something cheesy and predictable. Something insulting. Something like what he'd told Claire in her apartment after she'd pulled him out of that dumpster. About there being other ways to see. But for some reason, what came out was-

"My name is Matt."

Okay, so, not exactly awe-inspiring.

He'll admit that.

But the man ended up surprising him when he snorted, all the same.

"Mudack," Vladimir growled weakly, raising a hand like he was going to run it through his hair in frustration, only to let it drop at the last second, delivering a sharp, open handed slap across his cheek. Catching him completely off guard as he flinched away, catching the man's wrist in his hand.

"My brother said you'd be prick," the Russian informed him, annoyingly smug as he slurred back into unconsciousness without missing beat. Leaving him with a burning cheek and about a half dozen different points of confusion. The most important one being, namely, that the man's words had translated into something far fonder than a curse.

"Did Anatoly have a soul mate?" he asked a few days later, watching Vladimir wolf down his third helping of hot soup like he hadn't eaten in days – like he was half expecting someone to snatch it from him as he slurped nosily. Cleaning the bowl with his fingers with exaggerated drags that squeaked against the stonewear like nails on a chalkboard.

"Nyet," the man answered, setting his bowl aside. Pulse leaping unpleasantly at the mention as the heatscape that outlined Vladimir's form rippled. Collecting around the sinuses like a storm of unshed tears. "It was only thing my brother and I did not share. He never quite forgave me for that I think."

"First in ten generation," the man remarked offhandedly, taking a pull from his beer bottle as the man's lips sucked a tight seal around the neck of the bottle.

He licked his lips on reflex. More than a bit unnerved at how easily they'd settled into an uneasy truce since that first day. He still couldn't breathe out of his nose, but honestly, he figured that comparatively at least he didn't fall asleep in mid-sentence. Which Vladimir had been doing a lot of as he'd continued to heal. It was kind of pointless to keep a grudge when his life had become absolutely ridiculous. He came home from work to what felt a whole lot like a bad sit-com these days and honestly he didn't see that changing any time soon.

"When younger I told him we would share, yes? We shared everything as boys. As men. I believed 'dis no different. I wanted us to be equal in all things. I 'vase determined not to let it separate us," Vladimir rasped, tone strong, focused. Like it often did when he spoke of his brother as he leaned back, one leg draped over the armrest of the couch, lazed out like a feral cat, freshly fed and soaking up the sunshine.

He cleared his throat, thoughts threatening to run stream-of-consciousness on him before he re-ordered them and put them to voice. "There is a theory a group of scientists in Denmark are trying to prove," he shared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he set his bowl aside. Eyes going to approximately where he figured the Russian was looking before he continued.

"Something about a tendency for soulbonds to run in family trees. Trying to pin point a gene. A marker. They don't think it is random, I guess. They are facing a lot of opposition. But they have a solid base for the theory. Makes me wonder, though, how you can pin down something that connects with someone who can be half a world away? Disconnected. Someone you don't know exists any more than they do you? It's like limbic resonance or-"

"Mocha i der'mo na nauku, nauka ne znayet der'mo!" Vladimir snapped unhelpfully, shaking his head. "If true then my brother was cheated. Out of us, he was better suited to such things. Anatoly was check and balance. He had mother's patience. Always careful. Mindful of what there was to lose. I knew he would follow me here - to America when I felt pull in Utkin. Selfish! Proklyat'ye! YA dolzhen byl slushat!"

His ears picked up the calloused rasp of a scarred palm running through short hair. Giving him the impression that if he'd could, the Russian would be pacing. Somehow managing to sound enraged and exhausted all at once. Forcing himself not to shiver as the aftershocks of the man's sharp exhales whispered across his skin.

"When in hellhole, from Princes of Moscow to rotting in cell surrounded by dead and sick, I knew we could not look back. It drove me. Gave me strength," Vladimir thrummed, thumping his hand on the couch for emphasis. "Strength to turn back on own country. My mind explained it many ways. New opportunities. Business. Clean slate away from old families and bad blood. But deep down, da, I knew."

"My brother was different. He loved Moscow, even the bad parts he kept close - like worn out pair of favorite shoes. His heart lived there, yes? That was where he belonged. But he came with me because I was selfish. I would not leave without him and he knew 'dat. He wanted me to know peace. To feel whole," Vladimir shared, knuckles brushing down the front of his borrowed shirt as if to press against his living heart. The only place he could visit where his brother still breathed.

The silence stretched out, growing wings but refusing to fly as he struggled through a swallow. Feeling the need to say the words even though part of him knew he'd hate the answer.

"And what did you inherit?" he asked after a long moment, exhuming the previous point from the garble of broken English and staggered Russian. Sensing the cracking strain of the words as Vladimir's heat signature rippled again - tired and fuming in front of him.

"Father's rage," Vladimir replied, dismissive. Eyes fluttering closed as if to signal an end to the discussion as somewhere in the close distance a siren wailed.

Reference:

"Malen'kiy d'yavol" – "little devil."

"Vmeste" – "together."

"Vy ne imeyet smysla dlya menya , amerikanskiy" – "you make no sense to me, American."

"Ty shutish'! Eto nevozmozhno!" – "You have to be kidding! This is impossible!"

"Posmotri na menya!" – "Look at me!"

"Mudak" - "asshole."

"Nyet" – "no."

"Mocha i der'mo na nauku , nauka ne znayet der'mo" - "Piss and shit on science, science doesn't know shit!"

"Proklyat'ye! YA dolzhen byl slushat" - "God damnit! I should have listened."

Utkin: was the prison in Siberia that Anatoly and Vladimir were in for three years before escaping and coming to America.

If anyone's looking for something similar, check this out:
http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=5669064#cmt5669064
It is literally the best okay.

Billy and Kate are usually the ones who narrate for Matt. Billy because he a good at finding out ways to explain what the characters are doing on-the-spot, and Kate because she's so used to looking over everything and calling out what's happening where to her team mates while in the field. Sometimes one of the others will take up the mantle, but usually it's the two of them switching in and out seamlessly.

One day, Kamala's excited about rewatching Lilo and Stitch, which she says she hasn't watched in years. Most of the others, including Matt, haven't seen it, and the rest haven't watched it in years.

(Except Peter, who makes sure the tissues are close by, and waits with growing dread for the previews to finish.)

~~

"Ohana means family. And family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."
Kate is too choked up to continue narrating, so Billy takes over, even if he is sometimes interrupted by his own sniffles.

Matt tries. He tries not to cry. But the movie is too damn emotional and by the end he is hugging a pillow and crying, much like the rest of the kids in his apartment.

Of course, the kids notice. "Hey, it's okay mom." Kate says (and that just makes him cry a bit harder because he's been in the room a few times while Kate has rebuffed her numerous stepmother's attempts to get her to call them mom, but she uses the title for him with no hesitation and oh god he needs to stop crying).

"Of course it's okay," he chokes out, "it's just-sniff-just some dust." He cleared his throat. "The apartments's really dusty, we need to add dusting to your chores."

When Tommy walks in later (from what he won't admit was a date with David) he immediately freaks out because everyone is hugging and crying. "Ohmygodareyouguysokaywhathappenedohshitisthatliloandstitchohshitimnotgoodatfeelings." He takes a breath before he speeds over and awkwardly tries to pat Matt on the shoulder while saying "there, there", only to be roughly pulled into the group hug.

Tommy will declare a war on Disney at a later date, after the incidents with Up, Frozen, and various other movies, after which he is inclined to agree with Matt about the apartment needing dusting.

(Seriously, Murdock, can you pease add that to the chores list?)

~~

WELP THAT GOT OUT OF HAND.

*wipes dust out of eyes*

Hey, just checking in to see if you're still planning on doing this. I'm the author of the second fill and I wanted to do a follow up, but once again, didn't want to step on your toes if you had anything planned. :D

I'M FINE. I'M FINE, THIS IS JUST. DUST. YEAH. DUST.

not author!anon, but multi-fills are totally allowed on this meme anon! I wouldn't worry about stepping on toes. :-)

So I was going to go to bed already but I could not help myself cuz this is like MY FAV MOVIE EVER so please ignore all mistakes.
Also, Matt is so totally Elwood, like, seriously they're both tall adorkable messes who follow Foggy/Jake around like puppy dogs. Just think about scene where Jake falls asleep on Elwood's bed while Elwood tries to make toast and TRY to tell me I'm wrong because YOU WON'T BE ABLE TOO.
(I may or may not have already been up hours later than I should on this site) Anyway, onwards.

It's been a long, hard three years. And okay, yeah, maybe armed robbery hadn't been his best idea ever, but they lived on "the wrong side of town", okay? He knew some guys and quite frankly it seemed to be the only way he and Matt were going to eat instead of starve to death (Foggy would've probably been able to survive eating out of dumpsters, but Matt already had such a hard time with processed foods that dumpster food would legitimately have killed him - no, Foggy was in no way jealous of those weird chemically-induced super senses). Besides, he was really only there in an official capacity as an attorney. Not one of his clients had said anything about committing an actual crime.

It hadn't been one of his brightest moments.

However, despite his name's implications it seemed Foggy's talent for radiating sunshine out of every last pore in his body had enamored him of some hard-core gang members who really just needed a friend who wasn't posturing and therefore able to give a goddamn hug every now and again and he found himself a bonna-fied member, with a code name and connections and everything. He got amazing protectors and didn't even have to sleep with anybody, it was awesome.

So he said goodbye to Enrique, Jesus, and the rest of the gang and promised to keep in touch before gathering his suit, hat, and all-important glasses, and leaving to finally hug the one guy in the world who probably needed it.

Matt. His brother in all but blood, his closest friend since the day a car crash had taken his whole family away, and the only person he would willingly murder for and not lose a wink of sleep about it.

The hug was awesome. Even better than Foggy had expected it would be.

The car was... new.

"Are you... driving?" Foggy asked, slightly terrified.

Matt smiled at him in that goofy, self-deprecating way Foggy hated but could never seem to defeat. "It's a pretty high-tech car, tells me where things are and has those auto-break features so I haven't hit anything yet. Plus," he added, "taking out the side windows helped."

And because Foggy couldn't bear to rain on his parade, he shrugged and got in the passenger's seat. "Can't be as cool as the old Cadillac," he remarked.

"It's a cop car Foggy," Matt explained, excitement obvious in his voice as he started the car without any trouble. "You won't believe the shocks on this thing, it's super cool."

Foggy snorted. He waited until they'd gotten through part of the city before saying anything, though. "It does talk to you, weird."

"Cops get all the best toys," Matt grumbled, only a little bitter. "That settlement they got from Stark Industries was a crazy deal."

"Totally," Foggy remarked. "Still not better than the Cadillac."

They'd stopped for a rising bridge. Matt turned his head, eerily staring directly at Foggy.

He lasted all of two seconds. "What?"

Matt wrinkled his brow - oh shit, that was the angry face, what was Matt gonna - and put the car in gear.

Foggy held on for dear life and didn't need to hold in a scream because it was kind of trapped in his throat and wouldn't come out if he bribed it as Matt weaved through traffic and gunned up and over the parting bridge.

And, okay, they landed on the other side with nearly no trouble, these shocks were kinda amazing.

Not that he was going to admit to that.

"Think it passes muster as the next Devil's Ride?" Matt asked as he casually drove through the streets like he hadn't just pulled a stunt with a 99 percent probability of getting them both killed.

"It'll do," Foggy replied, since he still wasn't quite over the shock.

For whatever reason, they ended up driving back to their old home - St. Agnes Orphanage. It was most likely to visit Splinter, the great old blind janitor that lived in the basement and had not only helped train Matt to use his senses but practically raised Foggy and Matt and introduced them not only to music but to law.

Music was their living, but law was their passion. Two kids who never got adopted and didn't have the resources to pay for undergrad were never, in any world, going to be able to pay their way through law school.

So they paid the required visit to the Nun From Hell. Seriously, she was scary. Like, scary-beyond-all-reason scary.

She also chased them out pretty quick, complete with big-ass metal ruler and condemning them as useless fallen heathens while simultaneously making them feel like the bad guys for not turning out better despite all the prayers she continued to pray for them.

Granted, the cussing (which is what prompted her to hit them with the ruler in the first place) every time she hit them (because OW) probably hadn't helped. And not being able to get out of the tiny desk that she'd told them to sit in and so subsequently falling down the stairs in it wasn't Foggy's best moment ever, but in his defense he'd been a little preoccupied with getting away from Crazy Sister Scary Always But ESPECIALLY When Holding A Ruler.

Totally justifiable, considering she'd floated back into her office and the door slammed shut without her touching it with a whirl of creepy abandoned-house-horror-movie wind.

"What just happened?" Matt asked, helping Foggy off the floor.

"Trust me Matt," Foggy answered, "you don't wanna know. I think she might actually be some kind of demon."

"You wouldn't be the first."

Matt and Foggy turned to face the voice, smiles breaking out as the fear from Crazy Sister SABEWHAR faded to be replaced with joy. "Splinter!" they cried out in near tandem.

"How you boy's doing?" their mentor greeted back. Hugs were given all around, and then they went down to his familiar home in the basement where a record was turned on and beer was opened. They talked about everything (including how not-actually-scary prison had been for Foggy) and then asked what he'd been up to.

Apartment hunting, was apparently the answer to that.

"It's WHAT?" Foggy and Matt questioned in one voice (doing that had ceased to be weird long ago - it's part of why people had thought they were twins and they did absolutely nothing to discourage this notion because it was so totally true don't even argue - who cared that they didn't really look all that alike now?).

"Zoning issues boys," Splinter stated. "Leonardo said he's willing to put me up as long as he needs to, which might be a long time. St. Agnes isn't the most well-funded institution, and unless we can scrounge up the 5,000 dollars owed in property taxes by next Thursday the whole lot of us are out."

"But what about the other kids here?" Matt asked, voice showing just how incredibly concerned he was. "What are they going to do?"

Splinter shrugged, which Foggy narrated. "Don't know," Splinter answered, way too used to Foggy's running commentary to let it trip up his flow of thoughts. "Most of them will get shuffled around to other orphanages in the area, anyone who can take them."

"We can't let this happen," Foggy stated in disbelief. "There must be something we can do!"

Splinter didn't have any better ideas, though, so they parted with heavy, defeated hearts. Because Matt had come out of their overtly religious childhood home actually believing, he decided to seek some comfort in going to church. For reasons Foggy (much less inclined to believe in God but supportive of Matt in every way) could only later describe as an act of God, he pulled into not just a protestant church, but an evangelical church. Like, full on break out into "Holy Spirit" dancing evangelical church.

Foggy also thought they might be the only white people there. Matt might not think about these things because he was blind, but as the person in a poor, run-down, and unfortunately race-divided neighborhood who had to look out for said too-noble-for-his-own-good blind guy Foggy had become hyper aware of such situations just in case Matt managed to bump into the wrong person (not like it had always happened or anything, but Matt had a unique ability for getting into the absolute worst kinds of trouble so Foggy had learned it was just better to keep an eye out).

Anyway, the service was great (even if the guy did sound like Foggy imagined James Brown would if anyone had ever been able to make words out of his speech) and it was incredibly interesting to see the entire congregation break out into song and dance.

And then the sun shone down through the stained-glass window of Jesus, and Foggy had a revelation.

"Do you see the light?" Pastor Probably Not James Brown asked, and Foggy just knew the question was aimed at him.

"I can see the light!" he cried out, full of joy, and before he knew it he'd started back-flipping down the aisle to join in the dance. Moments later he flipped back to a very confused Matt.

Anticipating the question, Foggy grabbed his best friend by the shoulders and shouted, "The band, Matt! The band!"

"The band?" Matt repeated, not getting it. Foggy waited. "The band," Matt said again, a hint of understanding creeping into his voice. "The band?" a realization. "The band!" a revelation.

Foggy watched as Matt raced down the aisles to do his own victory praise dance (which Foggy might or might not have been copying out in the hall) before returning to Foggy's side, where they embraced like the dorks they were, laughed and cheered and cried, and then raced to their car.

They knew how to save St. Agnes now, and nothing could stop them.

They were on a mission from God.

♥♥♥

I wanna CRY this is so PERFECT

Foggy trying to goad Matt into killing him ... I can't even handle my emotions. Oh gods. I wanna hug them both.

OH GOD, WHAT DID I JUST READ. OH MY HEART. OH, OW. OWWWW.

(Thank you for this, blessed anon!)

I am so excited about this you don't even know

*gentle poke* Hi, nonnie! I figured I'd ask - will there be a continuation of this fill? (because it's really good...)

Author!Anon here - There will! There absolutely will be an update! There's only two parts left, really. I just have a deadline for a 20k story coming up in two weeks, so I've had to put all other works-in-progress on hold until then, as nothing on the Kink Meme has an actual deadline. ;) And it will ultimately wind up on AO3 as well once it's complete!

Thanks for checking in! I'm flattered that this is still garnering interest. :D

!!!

That is wonderful news. :D And thank you for such a quick reply, haha.

Good luck on your 20k!

:) Thank you! ♥

You see, this what happens when I go away for a few days. I miss school for a day, everyone learns Chinese. I miss work, my favorite celebrity decides to visit, and takes selfies with everyone. I come back to the kink meme, there are several updates-

Actually, no, that's an awesome thing to come back to.

Oh gosh, oh gosh, I don't know what you're planning to do. The mythos you're setting up are so wonderful and complex and EVERYONE is getting involved. Gah! I love it.

He knew better, but his was a faith of miracles.

LOVE this line.

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Page 191 of 209

Prompt Post #4

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover - Preview Thing

Re: [gen] accidental vigilante mentor Matt Murdock

Re: [gen] accidental vigilante mentor Matt Murdock

FILL: A World of Emotions (6a/7)

FILL: A World of Emotions (6b/7)

Re: Fill: Clear and Honest Communication 6/12(?)

{Fill} The Dog Days will never be over (so suck it up and deal) - 2a/5

{Fill} The Dog Days will never be over (so suck it up and deal) - 2b/5

Re: The Reason Foggy Shouldn't Come Over

Minifill

Re: Minifill

Re: 2/2 i have never hit character capacity on a dw comment before omg

Re: Minifill

Re: 2/2 i have never hit character capacity on a dw comment before omg

FILL: The Devil's Twins [1/?]

Re: Marcy/Foggy/Matt

Re: FILL: "Mercy" (3/3)

Re: FILL: "Mercy" (3/3)

Re: FILL: Kneel 6/?

Re: [FILL] Moths and Flames [5/?] (5/7, maybe?)

Re: [FILL] Moths and Flames [5/?] (5/7, maybe?)

Re: [FILL] Moths and Flames [5/?] (5/7, maybe?)

Re: [FILL] Moths and Flames [5/?] (5/7, maybe?)

Op here

Re: The Devil's Due Part 1.3