daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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OMG, yes pls!!!!

*

When it finally comes time for them to move out of their cramped, though cozy dorm, and into a much more spacious two-bedroom unit of their very own, Foggy says he feels like a real-live grown up, and Matt just feels vaguely disappointed. He’s not sure when he started thinking of his future apartment as his, and knows that everything happens when it’s supposed to, but he was hoping he’d get there sooner, rather than later. (Though if he’s honest with himself, it isn’t just the apartment that Matt’s impatiently waiting to catch up with with.) But they settle in just fine, with Foggy calling in a pair of cousins that he says owe him a couple of favors to help them with the move, leaving Matt feeling like an enormous asshole because he’s not helping out to the full extent of his abilities. But. Matt’s not actually ready to explain to Foggy everything he can do, let alone to cousins of his that Matt’s never even met before. That'll just have to be a bridge to burn when he gets to it.

After all their stuff’s been brought in, and to Matt’s great relief, the guys end up declining Foggy’s generous offer of pizza for helping them out, (though they do take him up on his offer of beer) leaving Matt and Foggy all alone in their new place except for half empty moving boxes, and a half put away apartment.

Foggy had ordered the pizza anyway, and as they eat, Matt’s surprised by how subdued Foggy seems.

Matt connects his foot to Foggy’s shin before his brooding silence has the chance to become too weighted and heavy.

“Huh, what?” Foggy says, startled out of whatever thoughts Matt had interrupted. He seems to remember all at once that they’re sitting down to pizza at their new fancy card table, in their new fancy apartment, because he wipes his mouth with a napkin before moving to clean up the scattered remains of their meal.

“Let me help,” Matt mutters.

“You can put the pizza box in the fridge,” Foggy says, still sounding oddly downbeat. Matt furrows his eyebrows at him, because this is Foggy Nelson they’re talking about, the perpetual optimist, Mister Glass-Half-Full himself.

Hands full, Matt gestures at Foggy with his chin before tossing the leftover pizza in the refrigerator as instructed.

When Foggy sits back down at the table, he’s quiet for a long time. Matt reclaims his own seat, folds his hands in front of himself, and waits him out.

“What if,” Foggy starts, and then waits a beat before continuing, “what if I wanted to get my law degree from Harvard?”

Confused, Matt asks, “did you apply to Harvard?”

“Of course I did. Didn’t you?”

“No,” Matt says, because it honestly hadn’t even occurred to him. He graduates from Columbia, summa cum laude, even, why would he try for anywhere else?

“See? And that’s what I’m talking about!” Foggy says, exploding from his chair, and nearly knocking it over before sharply pacing in the confined space of their living room.

“I don’t know what we’re talking about here, Foggy. You’re gonna have to tell me.” Is Foggy regretting his life here? Is he regretting his life with Matt? He’s pretty sure he’s making a horrified face at this train of thought, and tries his best to stifle it. He’s not sure how well he manages it.

Foggy moves back to the table, but doesn’t retake his seat. He just stands behind his chair, clutching onto the back of it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He breathes out hard, hot garlicky breath hitting Matt square in the face. “Do I even get a say in my own life?” he says. His voice breaks, and Matt’s heart breaks with it.

What’s this about, what is it Foggy really asking here.

Then he realizes.

Free will. That’s what this is about, he’s sure of it.

He has an idea. Maybe not a very good idea, but he hopes it’ll do the trick.

Matt gets up from the table and moves into the kitchen. Makes a show of feeling for the cabinets over the sink, before pulling down two drinking glasses and two coffee mugs. He fills one of the glasses and one of the mugs with tap water from the kitchen sink before filling the other glass and mug with milk from the fridge.

“Do me a favor and take these to the table, would you?”

Foggy does, probably giving Matt a confused look the entire time, but he does it and he doesn’t say a single word. He just walks over to the counter, taking the glasses first, then making a second trip for the mugs. He sets them all down right in the center of the table’s surface, all bunched together like a some kind of decorative display.

“Pretty thirsty, huh?” Foggy says. Matt grins at him, because he’ll take mild befuddlement over a looming existential crisis any day of the week.

Matt comes over to sit at the table, and when he does, he gestures toward Foggy to do the same.

“Yeah, this isn’t weird at all,” he says as he finds his seat.

“Go on,” Matt says. “Take one.”

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whichever one you want.”

“Well, how do I know which is the right one?”

“This isn’t a test, Foggy. Just pick the one you want. Water. Or milk. Glass or a mug. Your choice.”

Foggy’s hand’s hovers over the cluster of beverages for a long moment. He’s probably trying to figure out Matt’s angle with this whole thing. He gestures at Foggy again. Go on, make your choice already.

Foggy sighs. Then settles on the coffee mug with the milk. He takes a small sip, then sets it down in front of him.

“Yup, that sure was milk.”

Matt reaches out for the glass of tap water and ends up just downing the whole thing. Foggy was right, turns out he was pretty thirsty. He grins at Foggy once he’s set his now empty glass back on the table.

“Now imagine I came here, sat down with us at this very table, from say, I don’t know. Yesterday. So, now, because this present moment is also the past for me, I know which drink you ended up going with, because I have memory of it.”

“Matt--”

“Does that change anything?”

“Yes! Because, then how do I know my choices are actually mine? How do I know that everything isn’t already predetermined? My choices aren’t actually mine, are they. I just think they are.”

“But it is your choice. That’s my whole point. in that moment, you chose the milk. In the mug. Of all the options presented to you, the one you went with was the one you wanted. Whether I had foreknowledge of that choice doesn’t even come into it, because you’re the only one who could have made the decision in the first place.”

“But your knowledge would lock me into it. I’d have no choice but to make that choice.”

“That still doesn't stop you from having wants, and making choices based on those wants.”

“This hurts my head. Life was so much easier before I knew… about all this stuff.”

“Ignorance isn’t always bliss,” he says, trying not to laugh. He’s not laughing at Foggy, here, and he doesn’t want to come across as though he were, so he says, “I don’t know if you remember it, but we talked about this once. You didn’t seem to think it mattered if we have free will or not. We just had to live our lives as if we did.”

Foggy’s quiet for a long time. Then he says, “but you believe we do. Even after everything you’ve been through.”

“I do,” Matt says whole-heartedly. “I really do.”

“Guess that just means one thing, Murdock.”

“What’s that.”

“You get to help me clean up all this stupidness.”

“I suppose that’s only fair. And… Stupidness?”

“Yes, stupidness. This little demo? Was pretty stupid.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“You know, I'm not actually sure? I think I’m still deciding,” Foggy says, and Matt can’t help but to grin at him for that.

*

Time travel, for Matt, has never represented any kind of larger calling or destiny. It isn't a thing bestowed upon him by divine Providence, nor is it a thing guided by it; it’s simply an error of nature, a genetic anomaly that had somehow managed to trick his brain into unsticking itself in time. Another thing in life he simply has to endure.

But sometimes he wonders.

At the best of times, Matt chooses to think about that asshole Stick as little as possible, but even Matt had to begrudgingly admit that the man had been right about one thing: the mind does in fact control the body. The problem, of course, being that Matt controls neither.

He’s also pretty sure this was the real reason Stick had abandoned him all those years ago; if Matt could control his traveling, then Stick could control him. He used to talk about training him for some kind of war, the details of which he kept intentionally vague. But even then, Matt knew that having a time traveler in your arsenal made for a powerful advantage. The truth is, that could have very easily been his fate, and the reason he doesn’t like to expend much energy thinking about it is because the very thought of it makes his stomach turn.

And in a sick twist of fate, those very same skills and that very same training has helped him immensely in managing his condition for himself.

That he’s able to navigate the rigors of law school by maintaining his regimen is proof of it, and any bullshit traveling he has to contend with mostly has minimal impact upon his day-to-day life. This has been the status quo for the past few years now, and it turns out to have been an incredibly easy thing to take for granted.

It only takes one time, one single moment to upend that precious and precarious balance, and when it does, Matt can’t help but to think of God, and fate, and time, and what it means to be pointed in a direction and fired like a gun.

*

Tonight, Matt almost died. His friendship with Foggy most certainly did.

He had no real way of knowing it, but it’s pretty clear that everything up to now was leading to this moment.

It starts out like any other slip to another moment in his life: fatigue from classes, and studying, and visiting Fogwell’s, and dealing with the cold, and crowded subway on an icy January night (actually it’s early morning, but who’s counting) and all of this catches up with him before he can get to his usual cool-down routine of showering and meditating before heading to bed. Usually he can head off all of that before hand, but tonight it just splinters into that familiar full-body horror show of a muscle cramp and a headache so intense he swears he hallucinates fucking colors in the split-second before he’s hurled into another time.

When he gets there though, it’s quiet. He’s in his future apartment, and he breathes out a sigh of relief, because he’s come to think of this place as home. And besides, any time he’s not out in the open, having to scramble for something to cover up with, is always welcome.

Still, he's tired, and he wants to grab a quick shower before crawling into bed, whether it’s night time here or not.

Turns out it is fairly late at night, and he hopes his present self doesn’t come home soon; he doesn’t want to fight himself for covers, though knowing him, he’d just end up taking the couch instead battling needlessly for space in his own bed.

He's woken up from a dead sleep from a crash in the living room, and it’s Matt, though maybe it’s him traveling, because he lands bodily on the floor with a loud thud and a deep groan like he’s in immense pain. It’s a groan he’s intimately acquainted with.

Matt’s pretty sure his other self is unconscious, because he isn’t responding to pokes and prods, and then there’s all the blood. There’s so much of it, Matt doesn’t know—

And while this is going on, someone’s pounding on the door.

“Shit,” he mutters, because it’s Foggy.

“Matt! Ma-att! Come on, we have to--” and God, he sounds completely wrecked.

“Just… Give me a second!” He tries not to sound panicked, but he doesn’t think he manages it. This is too much, this is…

Other Matt groans again, and Matt tries to get him to wake up while Foggy continues pounding on the door.

When he finally gets his other self up and onto the couch, Other Matt grabs his arm, and pulls him down, hard. “Don’t—he can’t know. Don’t let him--”

“Shit,” he mutters, and when he goes to open the door, he leaves only enough space to stick his head through.

“Hey. Fog,” he says, trying for casual. “Sorry. Just was sleeping.” He pats down his hair hoping it’ll strengthen his case, and tosses Foggy a smile he hopes is reassuring.

Foggy’s vitals do something weird, so Matt makes a face at him.

“You aren’t native,” he says slowly, like he’s just figured something out.

“What?” Matt tries, but the way his gut drops out from under him tells him just how busted he is.

“No. You aren’t from here--”

“—Foggy, come on. You’re being ridiculous. You know that I’m from Hell’s--”

“No, Matt! You aren’t from here,” and he’s gesturing emphatically to the floor. “Not unless your hair’s grown out two inches since the last time I saw you, which was just this morning, Matthew! Also, is that blood?”

Matt pats down the front of his t-shirt and brings his fingers up to his nose. Yeah, that’s blood all right.

He opens his mouth to try to salvage this shit-show as best he can, and as he does, Other Matt lets out more pained and distressed noises.

“Um! Yeah. You’re right. I am traveling. But I was sleeping, and if it’s okay with you, I’d kind of like to get back to bed now because--”

“Was that just you in there? Move it, Matt. Move out of the way.”

“No!” Matt says, as Other Matt practically whines out Foggy’s name.

When Foggy finally pushes his way in, he lets out a long string of “holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” when he comes across Matt’s bleeding and semi-conscious form lying prone on the couch.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know,” Matt helpfully supplies.

“Wrong one,” Foggy bites out. “What happened to you, Matt, what--” he pauses, and reaches down to the floor for something, and then start gesturing emphatically with it. Foggy’s a riot of confusion and anger and horror and… and betrayal.

Tears are streaming down his face, because this is it, isn’t it? This is the moment. Everything happens in its due time, and he knows that, he knows he couldn’t avoid this forever, but he hoped, he hoped…

Now Other Matt is crying, too. “It’s not… it’s not what you think, Foggy,” he says, voice weak and fading fast. It’s clear he’s not going stay conscious for very much longer.

“I’m calling nine-one-one,” Foggy says, as he pulls his phone from his pocket.

Then a tussle ensues, Other Matt somehow convinces him to call Claire instead, and just as she arrives, Matt heads up to the roof to stay of her hair. Plus, there’s the fact that she doesn’t know about this part of him yet. Not for a few more months.

This… this is the life he chooses for himself. In his own time, Matt’s in law school studying criminal law and working toward becoming a defense attorney. And the thing is, he makes it. He knows he does, because he’s seen it for himself. He and Foggy start up their own practice, hell, he’s even been to the office, and according to Foggy, they do some really great work during their time there. Until Matt fucks it all up, that is. And this. This right here is how it happens.

And Matt just-- he can’t reconcile it. Something has to give, here, and he just cannot fathom what that could possibly be.

It’s nearly morning when Foggy trudges up the stairs, and this next part, he knows he isn’t going to enjoy very much.

He strips out of his clothes, folds then neatly, and holds them out to Foggy like an offering, because it’s the only thing he has to offer. He has no answers for his friend, and won’t for another three or four years.

Foggy doesn’t seem mollified when Matt points out that he won’t have to wait nearly that long for answers, he just has to go and wait for Matt-downstairs to wake up.

And when Matt gets back to his own time, he crawls into bed and cries.

He thinks back to his demo of glasses and mugs and the discussion he and Foggy had just a few hours prior, and he hates himself, hates his hubris, and hates that despite all his claims otherwise, he has no idea how any of this works.

*

After the events of Season 2, Matt's life has gone to shit. His job prospects are all but ruined, he's cut ties with all those he considered friends, and Elektra's death is still making his body ache at the thought. He makes a halfhearted attempt at getting a job but he's denied at every turn, getting hired as a blind man is hard enough but employers can sense something's off about him. Matt can't pay his bills and eventually loses his apartment.
Out on the streets, he puts all his time and energy into Daredevil-ing, to the point he barely looks after himself.

And then one night, he ends up half dead in a dumpster and a passing Avenger (Steve? Bucky? Tony? Or maybe Clint/Natasha realise he fits DD's profile?), bleeding heart that they are, just can't help but take the poor guy in. One's first instinct may be to get him to a hospital but at the very mention of the word the man freaks out. And he can sure throw a punch.

Or, Peter Parker, out on one of his dumpster diving adventures searching for computer parts and whatnot, is surprised when he finds said dumpster occupied by a bloody and beaten up homeless guy (and seriously, who's going around beating up blind homeless people???). He would call an ambulance but the guy's very insistent about "No hospitals".

I don't mind if Avengers/Spider-man come across Daredevil instead but thought it'd be nicer if they're just taking in a poor random homeless guy instead and get a shock later. Creative freedom up to filler~

Found this today. Hopelessly hooked. Keep up the awesome job anon!

AU everything is exactly the same except Matt wears hello kitty sunglasses. He doesn't even know and no one has the heart to tell him.

Oh no I'm writing a thing.

https://az616578.vo.msecnd.net/files/2016/09/23/636102461506697664-2097504589_oh%20god.gif
It hurts. Everything hurts

OP Here- YES! Have fun :D

I remember reading the Time Traveller's Wife and how utterly sad and tragic it was, and also terrifying. I think you are imbuing your story with the same and it is working brilliantly. I love each update and I am sorry I don't always comment. I feel so badly for your Matt.

You know that scene in S2:E9 (Seven Minutes in Heaven) when Fisk and Frank fight after Frank kills all those guys in the cell block? I'd kinda like to see that go a little further... Frank getting beaten up by Fisk while in chains, then bent over that hard bench-like thing and fucked hard by Fisk and all those guards who watched. Up to anon if the scene resolves as it does in the show or if you take it in a different direction.

Cross-posted to AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653291

Foggy's morning had been boring. He woke up on a mattress that was simultaneously unsupportive beneath his lower back and hard enough that the rest of him was sore. He opened his eyes to find his face dangerously near a suspicious stain. That had ended any vague ideas about rolling to find a somewhat more comfortable position.

He tried to freshen up as best he could in the tiny bathroom when he hadn't remembered to take his shirt off before falling asleep. His suit jacket's inside had touched the bed, which he resolutely refused to consider, but that left the outside of the suit looking nice enough. The new desk clerk barely looked up from his phone when he poured awful sludge-like coffee into a paper cup and handed it to Foggy with no offer of cream or sugar. "Second floor laundry room," was his only answer about if breakfast would be available. The hotel had a vending machine with a cracked glass front crammed next to a coin-operated washer and dryer pair coated in a thin film of grime. The paper signs announcing that both the washer and dryer were out of order looked older than Foggy's high school diploma.

He actually felt better in his dim hotel room with his faded blue blanket again working as cover for the hole in the desk chair. Creeping back up the stairs had been nerve-wracking but getting up and moving might feel better than hiding. Foggy was working up the drive to leave a more coherent message with Stark Legal or find himself a slightly more hygienic bolthole when he heard a knock on the door.

Foggy slowly turned toward the unimpressive door. He had remembered to put the deadbolt and chain in place when he returned with his disappointing meal. He still wasn't sure that the door would be any good against any further possibly-armed enemies.

After several seconds, there was another single rap. It was far lighter than he would expect from a giant guy but maybe that was the point. Staying in his chair suddenly felt impossible but he forced himself to wait. Rocketing up out of the chair would undoubtedly make a very loud noise. He'd outdo any noise from those quiet single knocks. Foggy managed to focus on standing up carefully and managed to not knock his knees on the desk or send the chair flying. Before he had finished congratulating himself for basic caution, however, his traitorous feet carried him to the peephole.

The odd fish-eye view of the narrow hallway showed yet more beige and brown and yellow-tinged lighting. The only break in the monotony was a man dressed in a black jumpsuit with the top half of his face completely covered.

Foggy had made his decision yesterday. He also wasn't in a great position to be all that choosy about allies. He opened the door.

Deedee wasn't looking at him when Foggy opened the door. He was cocking his head intently, as if he was listening to someone calling his name, and just moment later shook his head briskly as he turned his attention back toward Foggy. He pointed down the hallway and jabbed his finger in that direction.

"Just a minute," Foggy said. He grabbed his tie and the dead weight of his cell phone and double-checked that his wallet was in his pocket. Despite the very short delay, the man in black was fidgeting with obvious impatience when Foggy locked the door to 312.

Foggy's memory hadn't exaggerated. Deedee moved like gravity didn't weigh on him quite so heavily. He led both of them toward a back stairway without disturbing any of the creaking floorboards. Foggy did his best to copy the excellent example in stealth but still felt that every creak and groan from the floor would draw danger straight into his path.

The hallway at least had been narrow and well lit. So had the stairs near the front of the hotel. The staircase Deedee pointed at very emphatically spiraled in descending flights around a cavernous central opening. Two stories might have been less intimidating if the stairs weren’t pitch black. When the door to the hallway closed and cut away nearly all of the light, Foggy was left clutching a metal banister and carefully shuffling forward. Foggy only took faltering steps down two of the stairs in the darkness before his super-ninja companion took pity on him and offered an arm.

Descending the stairs with a guide was less awful than it would have been alone. That was the only compliment Foggy could offer the experience. There were only four flights of stairs but it seemed as long as the fight in the alley. The railing was disgusting to the touch beneath his free hand but helped as he carefully moved forward on slippery stairs.

Finally Foggy was able to take several steps forward on flat ground as he headed toward a door with light showing around the edges. This close, the faint glow from the exit sign was overwhelmed by the daylight around the edges of the door. Deedee tugged his arm away pointedly and took a step back. Before Foggy could ask why, a gloved hand covered his mouth.

Foggy sighed before nodding his acceptance. His non-super senses finally caught on to a reason that his guardian might be nervous. There were several men very loudly arguing outside of the hotel and one of them was saying something about 'Foggy Nelson.'

Foggy managed to suppress a startled sound that very likely would have emerged as a squeak. He was fairly certain he only managed because Deedee had given him fair warning that they weren’t alone.

The squeak nearly emerged again when Deedee suddenly grabbed his arm again. Foggy nearly stumbled several times as they raced up three flights of stairs. Deedee badgered Foggy into crouching just before the outside door creaked open.

“It’s no good. Cheapskates didn’t replace any of the bulbs,” a man complained. Silhouetted in the doorframe, he looked far smaller than the two from the night before. That didn’t leave Foggy at all more confident with his odds.

A second silhouette blocked what light might have reached up the staircase toward where they were hidden. “We’ll go through the lobby, then,” the second man said calmly. “Shame about the clerk but I do hate sloppy maintenance.”

Foggy spared a moment to be very unhappy about the clerk’s fate. After the door closed again, though, he again was moving down the stairs as quickly as he could while trying not to slip on the smooth edges in the dark. Whatever night vision he had been building had vanished with the burst of sunlight. By the time that Deedee shoved open the outside door and pulled Foggy into a run, it wasn’t only fear that left Foggy’s heart pounding. People had pestered him about doing cardio so he could lose weight. No one had said anything about how completely unprepared he was for a mad dash through an alley.

Foggy’s breath exploded out in harsh pants as he kept running. The muted shouts of “hey!” from somewhere behind him left him with enough adrenaline to let his focus narrow down to gasping enough air in to keep his feet moving.

After several sharp turns in the narrow alleys between buildings, Deedee turned them straight back toward the hotel. Foggy wouldn’t have had the breath to ask why even if his friend could have answered. Even more ominously, they were running straight toward a dented black cargo van with no windows and rust along the baseboards. The logo on the side might have advertised a florist’s, once, but nearly all the paint was gone.

The van’s door slid open as they approached revealing a large bay of computers and two people who did not look all that surprised. One was a dark-haired woman in a blue pantsuit. The other was a blond man in a tan suit and sunglasses with a dark stripe of blue glass across the lenses.

“Hey, vigilante guy!” the man with sunglasses said happily. “This here is Maria Hill and she is awesome. She will be happy to keep your buddy here safe in the bulletproof van. I would love to go kick some Hydra butt with you. Sound good?”

Deedee turned pointedly to the woman.

She was far calmer than her friend. “I will do everything in my power to keep Mr. Nelson safe. We won’t leave this position before you return unless it is a matter of safety.”

That seemed to be all that Deedee needed to hear. He nodded jerkily in reply before angling his hand toward the blond man and crooking all of his fingers at once.

Foggy knew a dismissal when it came. He clambered into the van when Maria made room and glanced back to see that Deedee was waiting. “He doesn’t talk,” Foggy said quickly. “Just so you know. Kick some butt, Deedee.”

“Got it thanks!” the blond guy said cheerfully. “Okay, do you do tactics, or is this going to be another Donetsk? Because let me tell you, we can both be glad you weren’t there for the first time.”

Maria closed the van’s door and locked it. The sound from outside vanished, but the one-sided conversation played through a speaker near the back of the van. “I’m Clint. You go by Deedee? Got it. My main goal here is to knock a lot of people out and then smile mysteriously at the cops when they get to book them all later. Nonlethal goal okay? Make smiling at the cops go over far better? Excellent.”

Maria reached to turn the volume down. “He’ll keep that up the entire fight,” she said in a disapproving tone with a half-smile on her lips. “As Clint said, my name is Maria Hill. I’m currently working as chief of security for Stark Tower. My legal department contacted me this morning about a message that you left last night.”

“I am really, really sorry,” Foggy said sheepishly. His suit was nasty, his hair was worse, and here he was sitting in her van and half-hearing commentary as one of her personnel was in danger because of him.

“Nelson, you are a civilian.” If she wore glasses, he had the feeling she would have tilted her head to stare him down above the lenses. “You protected a civilian party and if anything you kept Barton from sulking.” She smiled a little at his plain confusion. “The man in the sunglasses is Clint Barton, callsign Hawkeye. You managed to describe a possible Stark Industries contact that fits his build. He was so disappointed that Captain America and Black Widow punched Hydra without him.”

“Um.” Foggy glanced around the equipment in the van. Quite a bit of it was branded with the same A that had once been part of the label on Stark’s tower. After the Battle of New York it had ended up on most officially licensed merchandise. “I’m still really confused about when Hydra came into this.”

“That would be your friend Deedee. We had been hearing chatter for the past several days that Hydra had lost a weapon. I had several people monitoring the situation and it wasn’t until last night that someone realized that we weren’t looking for a stray gun.”

Foggy felt the color leech out of his face even as the last of the adrenaline melted away. The combination left him shaking and feeling dangerously close to vomiting on the expensive-looking Avengers mission equipment.

She reached behind one of the monitors without saying a word and removed a small black case. She tore open a small plastic and shook the contents out into a large, reflective silver sheet that she tucked around his shoulders so firmly that he did not try to shrug it off. He thought that might be how a drill sergeant tucked in a child. She handed him two chocolate bars and a bottle of water next.

“Shock,” she said calmly. “You had a second attempt on your life in less than twelve hours and this one involved a lot of physical work instead of just mental cleverness. You would have gotten away from Fisk’s men without a hitch, Foggy. Your secondary issue is that Hydra had just gotten your friend in their sights before he dodged away to help you.”

Foggy chewed the chocolate bars. They tasted a bit like wax but it was better than the granola bars he’d already managed to eat. “Hydra followed me to the hotel?” he guessed.

“Precisely. They lost sight of Deedee but unfortunately had the idea to follow you. By the chatter that I was overhearing, someone from Hydra made a deal with the other group. The group that originally threatened your life would take you into custody. In return for the tip, Hydra was going to wait to see if Deedee showed up to save you again.” Maria pointed at the middle screen of the bottom row. Out of six screens, that showed the best view of a spirited alley brawl that made Foggy instantly uncomfortable.

“Clint managed to get close enough to the group to plant a couple cameras while he was taking a look around. The superiors of both groups might agree on a common goal but both groups assume their group’s interest will of course come first. They expect their common grunts to obey this idea. They never expect the other side may have the same idea.” Maria watched as someone with what looked a skull-topped octopus on his jacket fly the width of the alley to collide with the wall. “Clint and I were watching the early fight. We had originally planned to let it get heated and then fire a shot or two into the ground. Twitchy fingers would have drastically reduced numbers for us. Unfortunately a couple of their number tried the door before it went quite that far.”

“Hydra?” Foggy repeated weakly. “Like in the Captain America comic books.”

“Mmhm.” Maria looked away from the monitors. “I’m guessing you were busy at the office the last couple weeks. I used to work at SHIELD before the gigantic mess in Washington DC helped reveal that Hydra has had a large presence in our organization from the beginning.”

Foggy watched the fight for a while. Barton didn’t seem remotely hampered by his suit. The diminished volume from the speaker made it clear that Barton wasn’t all that bothered by an ally that didn’t talk, either.

“I feel like my life made sense before last night,” Foggy said when the last three fighters held up their hands in surrender. Deedee slammed the one in the skull-and-octopus getup against the wall to Barton’s clear approval. After Barton tied the man at his hands and feet, and then repeated the trick for the last two conscious opponents, Deedee nodded and ran out of the camera’s view.

“It probably did, Mr. Nelson. For what it’s worth, though, you got here by making the right choices.”

“Oh! Please, call me Foggy,” he said belatedly. “I was caught up in a case for my firm but I don’t think I’ll be working there any longer. Wilson Fisk is a huge client for Landman and Zack and my friend has information that he’s been behind a lot of crime in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Maria looked mildly surprised. “Well that was quick. I had a few contacts looking around to find the kingpin. You just let me know when you trust my group enough to provide protection to your friend.”

Foggy could see police cruisers completely blocking the nearby side streets. The flashing red and blue lights were bright enough that they distorted the colors in one of the camera views. He hadn’t heard any of the sirens. “Sooner might be better,” Foggy said. “Those guys aren’t just local?”

Maria nodded. “With something as nasty as this is going to get, I’d never leave it to a single precinct. I’m sure this is messy enough that several would have been involved eventually.” She pulled the van’s door open again. The distant sound of megaphones echoed through the alleys.

“Come on in, Deedee,” she said kindly. She patted one of the two rear-facing seats close to the front of the van. “It’s just going to get louder out there. I was planning on swinging by Foggy’s apartment while Clint gets this lot booked in. I would appreciate it if you would help me keep watch while we’re there.”

Deedee nodded jerkily before clambering in. He felt out one of the narrow seats before sitting carefully and fumbling with the belt.

Foggy took the seat next to him. He shed the shock blanket in the process and reached out to click the seatbelt into place. If he had been in shock just avoiding a fight, being actually in a fight meant anyone deserved a little comment-free help.

Maria opened a partition to the front cab before closing the van’s door. Foggy appreciated that. It didn’t feel like a prison when he could see her hopping into the front seat.

She hadn’t asked where he lived but she headed toward his place. Foggy only was able to guess that was their final destination because he recognized increasingly closer landmarks. Maria somehow found an empty and legal parking spot. Foggy wasn’t sure what would have happened if his apartment complex wasn’t wise enough to cooperate with her but suspected that he would again feel trapped in an action movie when he’d rather be in a quirky legal comedy.

Maria and Deedee had a quiet talk in the back of the van. Foggy only followed half of it. With Deedee, Maria quickly slipped into an abbreviated language that made perfect sense to both of them. They had several signals worked out in just a minute and then Maria hustled Foggy up the stairs toward his apartment with Deedee tailing behind them.

Foggy’s legs were going to fail him tomorrow if he tried to do anything more dramatic than walking toward a meal. He was moving on autopilot as he tried to focus on Maria’s words. Having the two of them inside his apartment would not settle in his mind. Deedee had saved him twice, now, but he was part of Foggy’s sudden life that involved alleyways and bad hotels and danger. Maria worked with Avengers. Foggy was quickly piling his law diploma and laptop into a duffel bag. He’d once been optimistic about how much motivation he would have for going to the gym. On that thought, he shoveled his collection of casual clothes into the bag, and then the entire contents of his lockbox.

Maria was standing in the middle of his living room holding a green canvas grocery tote. “Pictures,” she said calmly. She probably did know exactly what people regretted not bringing when they had to flee from what their life had been. “A few other things, too, but it’s time to go.”

Deedee nodded and made a broad swirling gesture with a hand.

“Thank you,” Maria replied. “How many blocks?”

He held up two fingers.

“On foot?”

He nodded again.

Maria grinned in a flash of teeth. “I like you,” she said happily before the three of them fled down the stairs and back into the van. She glanced up into the rear-view mirror after several minutes of aggressive driving. “Deedee, any time you want a job, I will personally hire you to work even one day a month,” she said. “Foggy, I’m planning to head to Stark Tower after we stop to get Clint. Is that okay with you?”

Foggy nodded. “Um- I nodded. Sorry, I don’t know if you can see that. Stark Tower is better than I expected.”

“Foggy Nelson, you might be the main reason that several very bored and cranky Avengers are going to get out of my hair and do something productive that might involve minimal property damage,” she replied with feeling.

She pulled to the side of the road just a minute later. Clint bounded up into the front seat looking immensely pleased. “I can go in later to give a full statement about how I accidentally stumbled into a turf war between some unidentified possible gang and a group of people with a Hydra insignia on their matching outfits. They’re busy figuring out who gets to handle this nonsense.”

“I’m thinking FBI,” Maria replied. “I’ll still get you a new pair of sunglasses but thought you were going to ditch those.”

Clint shrugged. “The moment didn’t call me. Katie-Kate wouldn’t want them to die in a lame way. Anyway.” He contorted himself to duck under the rearview mirror and peer through the gap in the partition. “Hey, other new guy! I’m Clint Barton.”

“Foggy Nelson.”

“Sweet. I love it when the new guy doesn’t get to make fun of our names,” Clint quipped. “Hey Deedee. Still good?”

Deedee snapped twice.

“Great. Foggy, you had a couple friends involved in this? If you decide that you want us to protect them, just let us know. We have plenty of space to house dozens in Stark Tower for a while.” Clint didn’t show any sign that his odd position was uncomfortable.

Foggy was somehow the nexus of a wide net of people that involved a Hydra “weapon,” Hydra itself as a not-anachronistic evil organization, and Wilson Fisk as a criminal mastermind that bought out far too many Hell’s Kitchen cops. Maria Hill and Clint Barton had protected him. More importantly in trying to sort out just which people he would trust, however, they both accepted Deedee as a person. They’d even adapted signals on the fly to communicate with someone who didn’t talk.

“If I can borrow somebody’s cell phone I’ll call now. I arranged a code with my friend,” Foggy replied. “She’s in contact with the rest of the group. My friend Marci somehow ended up involved after Deedee saved Karen Page from police custody.”

Clint’s cell phone was a clear Stark Industries prototype. Foggy wasn’t sure if it was a prop just to be Maria’s stalking horse but he fumbled as he worked to find where to dial in a number. His impression of Professor Fogarty was worse than ever but Marci cut that off quickly.

“Hi Foggy-bear. I’m not at work because on second thought, playing hooky sounded better than having to sprint out the door hoping that the bad guys won’t notice,” Marci replied cheerfully. “Karen says hi.”

“I could’ve been Professor Fogarty,” Foggy said defensively.

Marci laughed at him. “Really you couldn’t have. So what’s the news?”

“I made a couple friends. I’m not sure how many people you have over there, or where you’re bunkered down, but would your group rather stay at Stark Tower?” Foggy smiled into the sudden quiet on the other end of the phone. “Hawkeye and Karen’s friend the vigilante just made sure a bunch of Fisk’s men are in NYPD custody.”

“I’m in!” a female voice yelled from the background. “So is Señora Cardenas!”

“It appears that we’re in,” Marci agreed. “I’ll bring the copies I made, we can pick up Karen’s friend on the way if he’ll come, and then we can try to figure out how we went from Landman and Zack associates to whatever we are now.”

Aha, so I'm up to 7 pages now, and I am having a lot of fun, and thought you might like to read a lil bit of it.

It's another week before the man is conscious, another seven days of Peter showing up and doing homework at his bedside. He finishes his essay and moves on to studying for a chemistry test. He's about to move onto math when the man finally stirs.
“Mr Stark!” Peter yells, jumping up. “I mean, Tony!” Stupid, stupid, he won't be able to hear him. “Friday, can you get him?”
“He's on his way Peter. Remain calm.”
The man in the bed is groaning now, shifting like he's having a bad nightmare, and he winces when he jostles his broken arms. The things Peter thought were braces are actually 3-D printed casts, which is amazing and way more convenient.
“Hey man, it's cool. You're okay. I mean, you're not okay, but you will be. Remember me? I found you in a dumpster and you punched me. Don't worry about that though, it's cool. I get punched a lot.”

OP- I AM SO HYPED FOR THIS
Love this little snippet, you've got Peter's voice down to a T! Can't wait to read more :D

Ah, thank you! I was a little worried about that since I haven't done much Peter writing, and certainly not Tom Holland Spidey yet.

OP- Nope, you got him perfect! Nothing to worry about, sounds exactly like what I'd imagined a worried teen-aged Pete should sound like xD

Foggy’s appointment with Van Lunt was always on Wednesdays, during Van Lunt’s lunch. Every Wednesday, he’d come back to find a meal waiting for him on his desk. Pad thai. A towering deli sandwich. A small pizza. Matt didn’t join him for those lunches. Foggy found that he missed him.

Matt did stop by Foggy’s office later in the afternoons, always wrinkling his nose as he stepped in. He never wrinkled his nose on other days. One time, early on, he cocked his head as Foggy winced when he walked across the office to the filing cabinet in the corner.

“He’s hurting you,” Matt said. It was a neutral statement; they both knew it was true.

Foggy shrugged, then caught himself. “I just shrugged,” he said. “Not like there’s anything I can do.” He pulled out the file he was looking for, closed the drawer, and turned around to find Matt a lot closer than he had been five seconds before. He drew the file up to his chest, as if he could protect himself from any of them. Matt didn’t seem to notice, just reached up and brushed his fingers through Foggy’s hair.

“You know it’s not supposed to hurt, right?” he said, and Foggy thought that he might even look a little sad. Then he leaned in, and Foggy felt his breath on his ear. “It’s supposed to feel good,” he whispered, and he pressed his lips to Foggy’s cheek before stepping back and disappearing out the door.

It took Foggy a moment to realize that he wasn’t shaking out of fear.

He spent the next few days trying to reason with himself, trying to rationalize it, telling himself not to give in, reminding himself what Matt had cheerfully done to him. Was still doing to him.

Berating himself for thinking of Matt when he jerked off in the shower.

But when he was naked and on all fours in front of Van Lunt, he tried to breathe deep, and remembered Matt’s voice whispering “It’s supposed to feel good,” and Matt’s lips on his cheek, and that was something he could hold onto.

It still hurt. He couldn’t change that.

After a week of conflicting emotions and avoiding Matt, he got the usual text from Wesley: “Treat Matthew well.”

And Matt was there, handsome and smiling. He kissed the top of Foggy’s head before Foggy got on his knees, and his fingertips drifted over Foggy’s face, brushing over his lips. He pushed two fingers into Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy sucked them. Matt’s smile widened, and Foggy felt good that he’d made Matt smile, the nice smile, the one that was a little soft around the edges.

If Foggy was going to survive, he needed help. And Matt was the only one who was offering.

He took Matt in his mouth slowly, teasing with his tongue before sliding down, concentrating hard to see what made Matt gasp and moan out “God, Franklin, yes.” He took his time, drawing it out, trying to make a point to Matt. To show Matt what he was offering.

He didn’t notice he was hard until Matt came in his mouth, and was holding Foggy’s head against his thigh, stroking his hair.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who enjoyed that,” Matt said, and Foggy wanted to scream, but it was also true. He swallowed down the retort that he didn’t want any of this, and let Matt pull him to his feet and turn him around so he was perched against the edge of his desk. Matt was still smiling faintly as he leaned in, his nose against Foggy’s neck, and breathed deep. “You smell so good,” he murmured, his hand drifting down Foggy’s chest, then unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. Matt’s hand slid into Foggy’s pants, and Foggy knew this was a dangerous man, this was a dangerous place, and any ideas he had about protecting himself were probably hopelessly naive. But he leaned his head back and let Matt stroke him, feeling Matt’s breath on his neck. He bit back a moan as he came, and the sound was more like a whimper. Matt held a tissue to his cock, neatly wiping him off, then tucking him back into his pants and zipping him up.

“Why did you do that?” Foggy said before he could stop himself.

Matt just smiled and kissed his cheek. “Because I wanted to,” he said.

Foggy didn’t think Matt saw the irony. He wasn’t even sure if he’d achieved anything aside from more conflicted feelings and humiliating fantasies. Matt didn’t behave any differently towards him, after that, even seemed to back off on his more…confusing advances. Foggy resigned himself to trying to think of a Plan B for surviving Confed Global.

Plan B hadn’t materialized by the time Donovan got a court case. Foggy watched him leave early in the morning, carrying the papers that Foggy had prepared for him. Donovan hadn’t wanted a second chair. That was fine with Foggy.

A knocking on his door dragged his attention away from his computer, and he saw Matt standing there. Matt never knocked.

“You know this is my office, right?” Foggy said.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt said, closing the door. When he crossed the office, he didn’t have his usual grace. If Foggy didn’t know any better, he’d think he was nervous. “Donovan’s going to be gone the whole day.”

“I know.”

“So I thought…” Matt shifted his weight, then fished into his pockets and dropped two things on Foggy’s desk. A condom, and a small bottle of lube.

Foggy nodded. “I just nodded,” he said, and he’s not sure what Matt heard in his voice, but Matt reached out to him and pulled him to his feet. Again, Matt pressed his nose against Foggy’s neck and breathed in.

“I told you…” Matt whispered, “it’s supposed to feel good.”

And Foggy did shiver, then, and Matt grinned.

It all happened a little too fast, Matt pulling his pants down and bending Foggy over the desk, and sliding one finger inside. Foggy did whimper then, and heard Matt murmur “Let me hear you.” There was no-one down at this end of the offices except for him and Matt. Matt’s finger was gentle, slow and slick, and Foggy almost shouted when it brushed his prostate, and Matt laughed and did it again. His other hand stroked Foggy’s hair as he pushed a second finger in, pressing gently to open Foggy up to him, but never pausing for a moment. Slow and steady, then a third finger, just as gentle and just as relentless.

“Think you can take me, sweetheart?” Matt whispered in his ear.

“Yeah - yeah - ah!” That was Matt’s fingers on his prostate again. Then they were gone, and Foggy tried to catch his breath as he heard Matt tearing open the condom packet. Matt slid into him slowly, almost carefully, until he was buried completely inside him, then out, until only the tip of his cock was still inside. He kept that up, slow in and slow out, and Foggy couldn’t control the moans that he made at every drag of Matt’s cock against him. Matt reached around and stroked Foggy’s cock, keeping the same slow pace, his face pressed against Foggy’s shoulders, gradually moving faster until Foggy felt his cock twitch inside him. He pulled out, and jerked Foggy off still bent over the desk, his teeth nipping at Foggy’s ear as he whispered “You’re so good, Franklin.”

Afterwards, when the endorphins had dissipated and his heartrate was back to normal, Foggy realized that Wesley hadn’t texted him to tell him Matt was coming. It might mean nothing. It might mean that Wesley no longer thought he needed to tell Foggy how to service Matt.

Or it might mean that Matt had just fucked Foggy behind Wesley’s back.

And if that was the case…Foggy might have a chance, after all.

Matt's never had a friend before, and all the kids at the orphanage and school used to either bully him or ignore him. So when he goes to college and his roomate is abusive, not much is new. He doesn't really understand the social thing, and he doesn't understand that he can stand up for himself. Why would he? This happens all the time, so it must be his fault. Everyone does say he's weird and he's never had a real friendship. Maybe this is how it's meant to go. Or maybe he deserves it.

Cue Foggy who's getting increasingly concerned about this awkward blind kid in his class and how some people treat him.

I need this in my life!! Please!!!

I am still here with this. I was just having a very hard time with it.

Karen and Foggy sat in the office, and Foggy was sure that if any pins were dropping, then those pins would be heard loud and clear. They were both so quiet, too exhausted to think, and fight, or really to do much of anything. They were both trying their best to get Matt out of prison, but something was blocking them. Obviously, there was a type of corruption there, but it was invisible to their eyes, in spite of the fact that it was obviously real.

"Karen," Foggy said, looking across the office. Karen was slumped close to the door and she looked awful. "I know that this is bad, but we're going to be okay. We're going to help Matt."

"You have faith that the law is going to help us?" she asked, bitterly. "Something is broken in this system, and it's keeping Matt there. You're not going to be able to fight this as a lawyer, Foggy."

"I'm unsure of what else we can do."

"Matt's rotting in prison, Foggy."

"Matt will survive."

----

Matt walked towards the shower, flanked by guards. It was a strange feeling, being treated as though he was some kind of dangerous criminal, when he was anything but. Of course, if most of the guards were in Fisk's pocket, then they knew what he was capable of -- or, maybe their leader had decided to keep them in the dark as well. That was a dark though, but then again, all of Matt's thoughts were dark.

He knew exactly what was going to happen when he reached the shower. He knew, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it. His entire body felt cold inside, a chill that went straight to his heart.

As he disrobed, a group entered the room. There were five inmates -- no, six...

Matt closed off something inside of himself as they attacked.

It was like he had physically separated his mind and his body. It was something that Stick had told him was possible, back when he was a young, but Matt had never managed to master such an art form. Maybe if he'd had more time to train himself -- but he was doing it now. The dissociation was so intense that he found it hard to keep on breathing.

The pain was inside of him, but it was also all around him. It felt as though it could literally tear his skin to pieces. Matt let out a soft, pitiful whine and closed his eyes.

That made him feel further from his body.

Something inside of Matt was utterly enraged y the attack, and with that feeling, the deadened sensation lifted. He had real sensation inside of him again and he pulled away.

He fought. He raised a fist and it made contact with something distinctly fleshy and wet -- a nose.

He could take them, he realized. Suddenly the instincts that were a part of who he was took control, and he could fight them off. He stopped them from hurting him, he took away their power to break him.

Daredevil was alive, naked in a prison shower.

He felt one, two go down under his hand and it felt good.

Then, he realized his mistake -- he had let one of them, the one near the shower door escape. One of them got out.

And that's enough distraction for a closed fisted punch to catch him under the jaw. While his head spun, Matt lunged forward, dizziness crossing over his eyes. His arm was yanked back, and then a large presence entered the corner of the room.

"You're going to pay dearly for that one, Matthew," Fisk said from the corner, laughing under his breath as the men flanking him grabbed hold of the vulnerable, suddenly submissive man who called himself Daredevil.

Matt lost control of himself and fell into blackness.

When he woke up next, he was dressed, in his cell and there was a small box in his left hand. When he felt it, he realized that it was a tape recorder. He could feel the simplistic buttons and the etchning of words, 'stop,' 'play,' 'pause,' against his fingertips.

Cold dread filling his heart, he pressed the play button.

The audio recording was cracky, barely audible, but Matt recognzied the distressed voice and picked out her words.

"No, there were no casualties in my department," said a terrified Karen Page. "I don't know. Our photography editor is in the hospital, and those interns downstairs are dead, and I...I can't talk to anyone right now!"

Matt's heart hit the floor at that. He couldn't believe that Fisk would kill people just because he'd fought back. Of course, he knew better, but his optimism was a great curse. He was sending a clear message. Matt was lucky that Karen was still breathing after his bold attempt at fighting back.

He struggled up to his feet, willing himself to just move. He couldn't let Fisk get away with this. He couldn't.

"I need to see him!" he yelled, growling the words down the hall to anyone who might be listening. He knew Fisk would keep one of his pet guards close.

Heavy footsteps echoed down theh all and a guard laughed at him. "I'd be glad to take you to him," he said cordially, his tone sickeningly sweet. "In fact, he let us know that you'd want to be taken to him as soon as you finished your little nap."

Matt scowled at him.

"Now none of that," the guard scolded.

Matt heard the cell opening and stepped through the door. His legs were shaking and everything hurt. His whole being hurt.

He followed the guard's heavy steps down the hall. When the man reached over to guide him, Matt brushed his hand away.

They reached Fisk's cell and the man laughed at him.

"Well hello," he said casually. "I see that you recieved my little tape."

"Please."

"I'm afraid that she won't survive the next attack," Fisk said somberly, shaking his head. "You know how inflammatory the papers can be these days. They must have printed something that offended some kind of zealot or something."

"Please don't hurt her."

"Groveling is beyond you," Fisk replied, laughing again. "You've become absolutely pathetic, Matthew. Just see that you don't get any more bright ideas."

DA- I am also camping here and very ready for this. We haven't had much new!Peter yet but this is so completely in line with what we have and he is so completely adorable. "I found you in a dumpster and you punched me. Don't worry about that though, it's cool. I get punched a lot" YOU HAVE PETER that is his life I am already giggling.

Foggy trying to survive and doing evrything eh can. My man im with you

Oh. Oh. Im loving this!
DeeDee goign to aid Foggy and Hydra lookign for him it's always good

NA

You're camping here? Can I share your tent?

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Page 153 of 165

Daredevil Prompt Post #11

Re: Doctor Strange freaks Matt the hell out

Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 10a/?

Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 10b/?

The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: Fill: Situation Excellent 3/?

Gen/any AU everything is the same except...

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 10b/?

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 10b/?

Fisk/Frank/guards (TW: non-con)

Fill: Situation Excellent 4a/?

Fill: Situation Excellent 4b/?

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [3/?]

Gen or Matt/Foggy Matt has an abusive roomate

Re: Gen or Matt/Foggy Matt has an abusive roomate

Fill - Upside Down - 5/? - Matt, noncon tw: rape

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [3/?]

Re: Fill: Situation Excellent 4b/?

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock