See, I like that. It also opens the door to a second part, where Sam comes back all those years later for holy water, or some book or something from Father Lantom and meets Daredevil/Matt and they talk about choices and devils and fathers. Or don't talk.
How old are Foggy and Matt? Do we know an exact timeline of when they graduated? Wiki says Charlie Cox is 32 (same age as Sam Winchester, which would have made him finishing his bachelors at the same time in first season spn). And Columbia I think is three years? Factor in one, two years at Landman and Zack?
It'd make a good parallel. 2005 and Matt is finally starting to find himself after years of dealing with loneliness and grief and being alone. SPN starts in October, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine that as the same fall when Matt and Foggy got paired up as roommates. Hell, the Winchesters even go to New York State in first season (Sarah, Sarah, you were so amazing and you lived just so they could kill you off, goddammit show). So there's Matt, starting to count his blessings, starting to feel like a weight might, just might be lifting, even if he doesn't even know what that weight is, but he goes to Mass, goes to confession, counts the beads out on his rosary and it doesn't feel like a punishment. It feels like a balm.
And there's Sam, angry and afraid, knowing he doesn't know enough but he can't stop thinking about Jess and he's like, swimming in guilt. Trying to move forward, trying to do the right thing, his brother fearless and scared beside him, his father probably three sheets to the wind on a mad crusade and Sam doesn't want to understand it. He's a smart guy, he knows what happens when hunters jump in with too much rage and not enough plan, but he dreams about Jess, dreams about the dreams he used to have, the picket fence and white dress and how he'd felt the fire that burned her up for days before he'd done anything and he won't let that demon take another inch.
Fast-forward ten years and Matt's in a fucking pickle, a goddamned mess of his own making. He's wearing vengeance like a cloak, his best friend can't even stand to look at him and he refuses to think about how much his body hurts, the badly healed scars, the bruising. He doesn't know where this all might be leading, how far behind the mask he's going to fall. He can only keep going.
And Sam, (HOLA I'm terribly terribly behind on my spn canon *handwaves season whatever*) Sam needs a fucking vacation. He doesn't want to go back to the bunker, back to that pervasive whisper of desperation and how all their friends are always dead. There's a few references from the Men of Letters journals to an order of priests in new york, well-versed in lore and Sam actually feels the warmth of pleasant surprise pooling through him when he recognizes the church name. He remembers the priest, Father Lantom. Remembers the calm he'd felt as he'd been encouraged to share himself with God, to not just ask for forgiveness but to accept that it had been granted, that he would always been welcome. Well, Sam thinks wryly, with a snort that's more sarcasm then pain. It'd had felt pretty damned good, back before the angels had descended into their lives. Back before hell and cages and sacrifice.
Sam is sure that Castiel knows he still prays. He knows Cas would never say anything. He's glad Dean doesn't know, it's not worth rehashing all those old hurts of missing fathers and horrifying choices. Sam really, really doesn't miss the apocalypse. But he can't shake the idea from his mind. He doesn't feel burdened, not like he used to, god the weight of it. He's paid his price and he feels that deeper than any memory of hell fire, deeper than the guilt for all the things he'd done, deeper than pride. He's made his peace with his life and his death and all the pain that came between.
Sam rolls his eyes at himself for the melodrama and starts looking at bus fares to NYC. They're not far, just a few towns north picking off a couple of cliched ghosts in a New England farmhouse. He can take a plane ride back to Kansas City and meet Dean there in a few days.
He finds himself actually excited, a smile creeping across his face as he plans the best way to tell Dean about how he's ditching him without making it sound like he's ditching him.
-They might have books, Dean.
-We've got enough goddamn books, Sammy.
-Yeah, well we don't have enough people who can read them and help us anymore, Dean.
He maybe shouldn't have said it quite like that but Dean's bluster doesn't have quite the same force behind it and he gives in with only a few more lines of protest.
Sam just really wants to speak to him. Father Lantom. It feels right. It's not until the bus is passing the into Maine that he even realizes he forgot to check if Father Lantom is even still alive. Oh well, someone in that order will probably know something about the Men of Letters. Maybe.
If not, New York's nice this time of year.
---
New York is definitely not nice this time of year. New York appears to be falling apart..
[[annnnnnnnd cue Daredevil, I don't know, stopping something or something is blowing up or he runs into Sam and Sam smells/sounds familiar and he's holding his own in brutal efficiency. Saving people. And Sam doesn't usually get mixed up in civilian things but he couldn't just do nothing. And that's how Sam meets the Daredevil.
The next day at the church, he gets to meet Matt Murdock for the second (third) time. WHO IS SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK. Sam's got six inches on him and moves like he knows how to hurt and sounds like he could charm the literal pants off a priest and talks to Father Lantom like they're old friends and seriously what the fuck?
And fuck me, I wasn't going to write anything. I am a terrible writer. Why, kinkmeme? Why? WHY DO I FEEL COMPELLED? Is it the power of Christ? you'd think he'd be more helpful to a poor, underprepared student. Exams, self, EXAMS. CLOSE THE KINKMEME TAB, STAT. I still haven't actually SEEN enough daredevil to really write Matt. I have no timeline that isn't Matt is fucking hurt all the time and makes stupid, heroic decisions. I'm sorry for the word vomit. I AM SO SORRY.]]
Re: Crossover with SPN, anything with Sam Winchester and Matt
How old are Foggy and Matt? Do we know an exact timeline of when they graduated? Wiki says Charlie Cox is 32 (same age as Sam Winchester, which would have made him finishing his bachelors at the same time in first season spn). And Columbia I think is three years? Factor in one, two years at Landman and Zack?
It'd make a good parallel. 2005 and Matt is finally starting to find himself after years of dealing with loneliness and grief and being alone. SPN starts in October, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine that as the same fall when Matt and Foggy got paired up as roommates. Hell, the Winchesters even go to New York State in first season (Sarah, Sarah, you were so amazing and you lived just so they could kill you off, goddammit show). So there's Matt, starting to count his blessings, starting to feel like a weight might, just might be lifting, even if he doesn't even know what that weight is, but he goes to Mass, goes to confession, counts the beads out on his rosary and it doesn't feel like a punishment. It feels like a balm.
And there's Sam, angry and afraid, knowing he doesn't know enough but he can't stop thinking about Jess and he's like, swimming in guilt. Trying to move forward, trying to do the right thing, his brother fearless and scared beside him, his father probably three sheets to the wind on a mad crusade and Sam doesn't want to understand it. He's a smart guy, he knows what happens when hunters jump in with too much rage and not enough plan, but he dreams about Jess, dreams about the dreams he used to have, the picket fence and white dress and how he'd felt the fire that burned her up for days before he'd done anything and he won't let that demon take another inch.
Fast-forward ten years and Matt's in a fucking pickle, a goddamned mess of his own making. He's wearing vengeance like a cloak, his best friend can't even stand to look at him and he refuses to think about how much his body hurts, the badly healed scars, the bruising. He doesn't know where this all might be leading, how far behind the mask he's going to fall. He can only keep going.
And Sam, (HOLA I'm terribly terribly behind on my spn canon *handwaves season whatever*) Sam needs a fucking vacation. He doesn't want to go back to the bunker, back to that pervasive whisper of desperation and how all their friends are always dead. There's a few references from the Men of Letters journals to an order of priests in new york, well-versed in lore and Sam actually feels the warmth of pleasant surprise pooling through him when he recognizes the church name. He remembers the priest, Father Lantom. Remembers the calm he'd felt as he'd been encouraged to share himself with God, to not just ask for forgiveness but to accept that it had been granted, that he would always been welcome. Well, Sam thinks wryly, with a snort that's more sarcasm then pain. It'd had felt pretty damned good, back before the angels had descended into their lives. Back before hell and cages and sacrifice.
Sam is sure that Castiel knows he still prays. He knows Cas would never say anything. He's glad Dean doesn't know, it's not worth rehashing all those old hurts of missing fathers and horrifying choices. Sam really, really doesn't miss the apocalypse. But he can't shake the idea from his mind. He doesn't feel burdened, not like he used to, god the weight of it. He's paid his price and he feels that deeper than any memory of hell fire, deeper than the guilt for all the things he'd done, deeper than pride. He's made his peace with his life and his death and all the pain that came between.
Sam rolls his eyes at himself for the melodrama and starts looking at bus fares to NYC. They're not far, just a few towns north picking off a couple of cliched ghosts in a New England farmhouse. He can take a plane ride back to Kansas City and meet Dean there in a few days.
He finds himself actually excited, a smile creeping across his face as he plans the best way to tell Dean about how he's ditching him without making it sound like he's ditching him.
-They might have books, Dean.
-We've got enough goddamn books, Sammy.
-Yeah, well we don't have enough people who can read them and help us anymore, Dean.
He maybe shouldn't have said it quite like that but Dean's bluster doesn't have quite the same force behind it and he gives in with only a few more lines of protest.
Sam just really wants to speak to him. Father Lantom. It feels right. It's not until the bus is passing the into Maine that he even realizes he forgot to check if Father Lantom is even still alive. Oh well, someone in that order will probably know something about the Men of Letters. Maybe.
If not, New York's nice this time of year.
---
New York is definitely not nice this time of year. New York appears to be falling apart..
[[annnnnnnnd cue Daredevil, I don't know, stopping something or something is blowing up or he runs into Sam and Sam smells/sounds familiar and he's holding his own in brutal efficiency. Saving people. And Sam doesn't usually get mixed up in civilian things but he couldn't just do nothing. And that's how Sam meets the Daredevil.
The next day at the church, he gets to meet Matt Murdock for the second (third) time. WHO IS SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK. Sam's got six inches on him and moves like he knows how to hurt and sounds like he could charm the literal pants off a priest and talks to Father Lantom like they're old friends and seriously what the fuck?
And fuck me, I wasn't going to write anything. I am a terrible writer. Why, kinkmeme? Why? WHY DO I FEEL COMPELLED? Is it the power of Christ? you'd think he'd be more helpful to a poor, underprepared student. Exams, self, EXAMS. CLOSE THE KINKMEME TAB, STAT. I still haven't actually SEEN enough daredevil to really write Matt. I have no timeline that isn't Matt is fucking hurt all the time and makes stupid, heroic decisions. I'm sorry for the word vomit. I AM SO SORRY.]]