***

Ray must be fueled by hatred and misery and pure evilness, because he's fast for a ninety-year-old — he's almost at the end of the street by the time Foggy catches up with him. He knows that Foggy's coming, he must know, but he doesn't react, doesn't show that he knows, doesn't slow down or speed up in hopes of running away. Which he could do, he's already walking fast, if he sped up he'd be able to get away. But he doesn't. It's like he doesn't care.

One thing happens when Foggy does catch up with him, and it's something that Foggy'll be proud of for years to come, a fond memory to replay when things look bleak and life is crap and everyone needs a little pick-me-up.

Foggy clenches his fist and runs a little faster. "Hey, grandpa!" he calls out.

The use of that word over Ray's name — or the number of derogative monikers that Grams devised for him over the years — stops him dead in his tracks. He turns around, face alight with curiosity, and that split-second pause allows Foggy to collide with him at full speed and to drive his fist into Ray's — creepy, disgusting, so similar to his own — face.

Foggy is not a violent person. Sure, he's been in a fistfight once or twice, last time in sixth grade, with Brett of all people, but he's never been particularly good at fighting. He's not a violent person as a general rule, because Ray has always been a violent person and being unlike Ray has been one of his top life priorities ever since he turned seven and could comprehend just what kind of a douchebag his grandfather was. So. Violence is the measure of last resort, but this is a last resort type of a situation, and Foggy regrets nothing as he lands his fist square in Ray's face.

The sound of bones breaking is just an added bonus.

Ray staggers back and his hand flies to his nose immediately. Someone on the street yells "what the fuck, bruh!", but Foggy's not listening to them, blood is pounding in his ears, there's blood trickling from between Ray's fingers and he looks so goddamn surprised. Didn't see that one coming, did you, Ray.

Ray is still clutching at his nose with one hand, holding his cane with the other — Foggy does briefly think about what Grams' neighbours will say about seeing her grandson beating up a clearly blind elderly man, but decides that a) he doesn't fucking care, and more importantly b) Grams will be proud of him no matter what — when Foggy makes a move to grab him by the lapels and then...shake him? punch him again? punch him until he cries about how sorry he is? Yeah, something like that.

Only Foggy never gets to do any of that, because this isn't merely Ray, his creepy asshole grandfather whom Foggy hates, this is Stick, goddamn motherfucking bastard Stick, blind ninja master Stick, whom Foggy hates even more. Being a ninja master clearly means something, though, because the moment Foggy moves his arms, Ray drops his cane and counters the move, batting Foggy's hands away. He sidesteps Foggy and moves behind him, grabs his arm and twists it behind Foggy's back, pulls Foggy's hand by the wrist so far up that it makes the shoulder strain at the socket. With his other hand he pins Foggy's other arm to his side in a strong iron-like grip that no ninety-year-old should possess.

"What's got into you, Frannie?" he hisses and yet somehow makes it sound almost concerned. He's the most despicable being Foggy has ever encountered, Wilson Fisk included.

"You fucking bastard," Foggy spits out. "You goddamn fucking--"

"Language, Frannie."

"Let me go."

Ray pulls harder at his wrist. He'll dislocate Foggy's shoulder at this rate if he tugs again. "No."

"I know what you did, you bastard," Foggy grits out. "And I'll end you for that."

"So Matty shared. Nice to be remembered, I guess." Foggy struggles to break free, to break Ray's hold on him and turn around, and wrap his hands around Ray's throat and squeeze, but Ray's grip is like a vice. "Give him up, Frannie."

With that, he lets go of both of Foggy's arms, relaxes his grip and shoves Foggy away. Foggy trips, but catches his balance before he ends up nose-first on the pavement. He spins on his heel to face Ray, who looks worse than usual, at least. Blood's no longer running down his face, but his nose is clearly broken. Small things, Foggy, appreciate small things.

Foggy barks out a laugh. "You're shitting me, right?"

"Nothing good ever happens to people in Matt Murdock's life. He's trouble, kid," Ray informs him calmly, "even more so with what's coming. It's for your own damn good."

"Like you fucking care."

"I do care."

"I don't believe you," Foggy snaps.

"I don't need you to believe me." Ray stomps his foot, brings it down on one end of his cane, propelling the thing into air. He catches it mid-fall with a practiced ease. He grins at Foggy, as if expecting applause for a neat trick. "Give him up or I'll me you give him up."

"Like hell." Foggy clenches his fist again, draws his arm back, preparing to throw a punch. Ray catches his fist in front of his face, shakes his head sadly as if disappointed. Well boo-fucking-hoo. "I'll kill you," Foggy tells him, venom and spite pretty much dripping from every word, "if you ever get close to him again. For Matt, I'll kill you, I promise."

Ray smiles. "I believe you," he says simply. He pushes Foggy's still clenched fist back at him. "If you're so concerned about him, maybe you should find out how your friend's doing, mhm? If that's even what he is."

He wipes the rest of the blood on his sleeve, taps his cane against the ground once and turns away. Foggy observes his retreating back for a moment before breaking into a run back towards Grams' house, because Ray might be a dick, but he's right. He left Matt there, he left Matt there and he shouldn't have. So Foggy runs back to the house, blood still pounding in his ears, heart beating too fast, and all thought now occupied by Matt, Matt, Matt.

***

He throws the front door open and barges into the house, yelling, "Matt!"

There's almost no one left at the house. Grams' hunting friends have clearly left, maybe on their own, maybe Grams made them leave. Anna he can hears pacing in the kitchen, still agitated, talking on the phone in a hushed tone with whom Foggy assumes is his dad, but might also be Bess Mahoney, technically. Cande's nowhere to be seen, so perhaps she's still in the study upstairs, blissfully out of this clusterfuck of a situation.

Where hopefully Matt is too, maybe less blissful but safe.

"Matt!" he calls again, while going for the stairs.

"Franklin," Grams says. She's standing in the living room doorway and inclines his head, inviting him in.

He shakes his head. "Not now, Grams, okay, I've gotta--"

"Now, Franklin."

She grabs his arm and drags him into the living room, closing the door behind her. That's never a good sign, and Foggy swallows thickly. Grams is a firm believer in being open about everything and in not keeping secrets from the people you love. It's a rule of hers that Foggy's always cherished, he should really learn how to spell 'hypocrite', shouldn't he, but so should she, to be perfectly honest.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she hisses. Foggy winces. Well, there goes his hope of Grams being proud. He takes a breath and prepares to explain when she continues, "do you know how hard I've worked to keep you, your mother, your sister, away from all his shit? And you bring all of that into my house."

He shakes his head to clear it. He's not actually hearing what he thinks he's hearing. "What?"

"I promised myself that my child would not be a part of the Chaste's shitfest, not like Ray and I were," she carries on as if Foggy hasn't spoken. "I did everything to protect you from that and you go and bring one of his into our lives! For God's sake, Frannie, you don't even realise how dangerous those people are!"

"One of his?!" Foggy gapes. "What the hell, Grams, that's Matt. You know Matt, you've known him for five years!"

"Exactly!" She points a finger at Foggy accusingly. "God only knows what he told him about us in that time!"

"What he tol--Matt's not a spy! He didn't even know! I didn't know!"

"You can't be sure of that!" She throws her hands up in exasperation. "He's one of Ray's! 'Stick', only the Chaste calls him that, so he is, he must be! They're all dangerous people, Frannie, nothing good ever happens to people associated with them!"

"Matt's not one of Stick's anything!" Foggy's yelling now too, full volume. "They haven't even spoken in almost twenty years! He abandoned Matt! He ruined Matt's life and he abandoned him!" Foggy runs a hand through his hair. "Fucking hell, Grams, what the fuck, are you even listening to yourself? You know Matt! And you wouldn't even be saying this if you knew what he--"

He stops. Snaps his mouth shut. No. It's not his secret, it's not his secret to tell. He shouldn't even know about it, the fact that he does was a mere miserable fucking chance. Foggy closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself down. Jesus fuck, he never took Grams for a paranoid psycho. He hopes Matt's not focusing too hard on the argument downstairs and can't hear Grams' accusations. They're ridiculous. She's acting ridiculous.

A sharp intake of breath makes him open his eyes and glance at Grams. She's staring at him with something akin to comprehension. "Ray trained him, didn't he?" she asks quietly. It's almost eerie after all the shouting of the last few minutes. Foggy nods and the comprehension turns into apprehension turns into deep regret. Regret now, just great. Grams slumps onto an armchair. She looks defeated. "My God." She covers her mouth with her hand. "What have I done."

Dread settles over Foggy. "What have you done?"

Grams shakes her head mutely. So no answer there. Foggy strides over to the door and opens it, walks back into the hallway.

"Foggy?" Candace asks. She's standing on the last step of the stairs and she's holding Matt's cane in her hands. Candace is holding Matt's cane.

"Where's Matt?"

"He left," she says. "After you went after Ray, Grams dragged him away and they argued..." She makes a face. "Well, more like Grams yelled at him. And he just--ran off. Out of the house and--away. He left his cane here." She looks down at the item in question. "What happened?"

"You better ask Grams," Foggy says.

Candace steps off the stairs and hands him Matt's cane. "He left his cane here," she repeats. "Is he--Is he going to be okay?"

She means without the cane, obviously, because she doesn't know that Matt can, if needed, operate without it just fine. But that's not what Foggy means when he answers.

"I don't know," he tells her as he takes the cane. "But I hope so."

"You'll find him, right?" Candace asks.

"Yes," Foggy answers. Then, in a sudden surge of emotion for his stupid but so caring little sister, he drags her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he grips Matt's cane tighter and exits the house once more.

Outside, it started raining again. He looks around, left and right, but Matt's not sitting on any doorsteps or benches. He's nowhere in sight. "MATT!" he yells, but doesn't have any particular hope that Matt'll hear him.

There's no answer, predictably. Matt might be, theoretically, ignoring him, but he might not be anywhere near here anymore. Foggy folds Matt's cane under his arm and begins his fast-paced walk towards the subway station, towards line C that'll take him right back to Matt's apartment, where Matt hopefully is.

Foggy doesn't want to think about the alternative.