daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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You bet your ass there's gonna be one of these for each of the Endless

Matt knows that some people come to Central Park for a break from the city. He doesn't quite get the point, himself. The park still is the city, it's just a spot with less pavement and more places for muggers to hide. And it isn't his part of the city, and anyway it's the middle of the afternoon, but that doesn't mean he can't help out when he's in the neighborhood.

He'll have to get a new cane, but that's nothing new.

But now, infuriatingly, he's lost. He knows it's just because it's been a while since he mapped out the park paths, and the acoustics of grass and bark are too different from the concrete and glass that he's used to, and if he can just reach the edge of the damn park he'll make his way back home and he and Foggy will laugh about this over afternoon coffee. Right now, though, he's getting angrier and angrier as his frustration builds with each turn of the path that seems to take him further and further from the city he knows by heart.

There's a man standing at a fork in the path. Matt does not want to ask for directions, he hates listening to people's sympathy, he is a New Yorker goddammit he does not need directions. Not to mention the man has given no indication of his presence that Matt should have been able to sense. But he's given himself away already by stopping, Matt reasons, and it's getting late, and he really just wants out of the goddamn trees. So he bites his tongue, counts to ten, and puts on an uncertain tone of voice.

"Hello? I seem to be a little lost, do you think you could point me towards Fifth Avenue?"

The man shifts ever so slightly, probably invisibly to sighted eyes, but Matt can hear the rustle of his clothing. He's looking right at him, now, and the weight of this stranger's regard is heavy, oppressive. Matt's thinking he shouldn't have asked for directions after all.

"Hello?" He takes a step forward, then another, his cane clicking on the path before him. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you, I've just... lost my way..." He trails off a little as he takes in the details. He couldn't say why, but Matt's fairly certain the man he's talking to is also blind. He's also tall, and appears to be dressed like a fourteenth century Dominican friar. Which is, admittedly, not the weirdest thing he's run into lately, but it might be in the top ten.

"Have you indeed?" The stranger sounds amused, in the dry way Father Lantom gets when he's not interested in taking any bullshit. "You have many ways before you, but I think you are not seeking them now." The man lifts one hand from the book he cradles in his arms to point.

Matt ought to smirk, apologize, ask for verbal confirmation. He's done it so many times it usually happens on autopilot. But the strangeness of the encounter is seeping into his bones like a cold rain, and although his sardonic reply runs through his brain, it never makes it out of his mouth. He doesn't even manage a thank you, just veers to the side of the path and walks faster, as if by failing to acknowledge the robed stranger Matt can make him cease to exist.

He takes the left-hand fork and reaches Fifth Ave in under a minute. When he tells Foggy his embarrassing story about getting lost in Central Park, he leaves the stranger out of it. After a week, he's forgotten about it entirely.

yessssssss this is perfection

Death is a pretty girl in a black dress and heavy silver jewelry. She looks like the goth girls of his misspent youth, which is strangely reassuring. Of course, given the results of his misspent middle age, that might not be a good thing.

"You seem pretty okay about this for a guy who just got shot in the back in an alleyway," she says, nudging him with an elbow.

Jack shrugs. "I made my choices." And then there's a child's voice screaming at the end of the alleyway, beyond the police line, and he doesn't flinch so much as curls in around himself in belated self-protection. He'd known it would be bad, but oh God, he hadn't known how much. "Can we get out of here?" His voice sounds like it's been drug across the concrete.

"Yeah," she says, and the screaming is gone, and the cops, and the alleyway, and the city. "Anyway," she adds, "you've got a date with Saint Peter."

Jack thinks about the life he'd led, the life he chose to leave behind. He can't actually remember the last time he went to confession. "I'm not so sure about that," he mutters into his collar.

Death laughs.

oh, interesting!

i love this so much.

Prompt Post #6

Fill 1/7, Matt and Destiny

Re: Fill 1/7, Matt and Destiny

Fill 2/7, Jack and Death

Re: Fill 2/7, Jack and Death

Re: Fill 2/7, Jack and Death