daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Yay!! Glad you liked it!

Foggy tried to be observant, to pick up clues of where they’d taken him. He smelled damp concrete and motor oil and gasoline, when they opened the car door, heard metal scraping and clanging before they threw him into a hard chair, felt smooth metal against the back of his head where it smacked backwards. The Russian had tied his hands behind his back with duct tape in the car, and he pressed his fingers back, feeling the cool contours behind him. A car, he guessed. They were in some sort of garage. He heard quiet sounds of human beings around him, and noted that there were several more people hovering around the edges of the scene. They were speaking a foreign language, murmuring in undertones. Russian, he assumed, given Wesley’s thug’s accent.

Then there were heavy footsteps approaching him, and a hard punch to his gut knocked the air out of him. He gasped, wheezing, doubled over, and someone grabbed his hair and dragged him upright.

“Normally,” came Wesley’s voice in the darkness, “I detest violence. I find it…distasteful. Crude, even.” Footsteps, sharp raps on the concrete floor. “Mr Fisk, on the other hand, finds it useful to have people on hand who do not share my…disinclination towards it. Matthew and Frank, for example. And Vlad and Anatoly here, you remember them?” The hand on Foggy’s hair tightened, and Foggy heard a snigger from the person holding him. He felt a finger brush across his throat.

“Hard to forget,” Foggy spit.

There was a pause, and then Foggy was slapped across the face, hard.

“Under the circumstances, I see Mr Fisk’s point,” Wesley continued evenly. “Violence can be…cathartic, after a tragedy like tonight.” Foggy could feel Wesley’s breath on his face. “If I were you, I’d pray that Miss Marianna makes it through the night. Mr Fisk’s capacity for vengeance is almost as great as his feelings for her.”

“I had nothing to do with the benefit,” Foggy said, then his head was snapped sideways by a punch to his face.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to,” Wesley said mildly.

“It’s the truth,” Foggy panted, and he was hit again in the gut.

“I should have cut our losses as soon as Matthew took a shine to you,” Wesley mused. From the angle, he must have been crouching in front of Foggy. “It would have been so easy to get rid of you. One file to the authorities, and a few pictures posted online, and no-one would have ever listened to a word you said. You would have just…disappeared into jail and obscurity. I told you, I prefer to solve my problems without violence.” There was a pause, then Foggy was hit in the side, and he heard something sickening happen to his ribs. “Of course, I thought if Matthew just fucked you, he’d be done with you, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn’t it? Except for him, of course.”

“Do you have a point, or are you just monologuing?” Foggy managed to grit out, and got another hit to his face for his trouble. It wasn’t a fist, just something hard.

“The point, Franklin, is that you have proved far more trouble than you’re worth.” Foggy concentrated on where Wesley was; he had to be right in front of Foggy. He could imagine the scene, Wesley crouched with his elbows on his knees, hitching his trousers up neatly at the knee as he bent. “And now we’ve found our snake in the grass.”

Foggy kicked out. He wasn’t tied to the chair, he had full use of his legs, and Wesley was right there. He felt his foot connect with something soft, and heard Wesley grunt in pain, before hands were grabbing him, hitting him, pulling him back. There were some angry Russian words exchanged, then his head was yanked back by his hair, and something hard and metal was forced into his mouth. Distantly, through the pain, he registered that it was squared and tasted the way Frank’s fingers did. The muzzle of a gun. He felt a tooth break as it was forced further into his mouth, then it was pushed so far in that he choked, and whoever was holding it just kept pushing. He struggled against the strong arms holding him, hearing Russian-accented taunts that they knew he loved sucking whatever was shoved in his mouth.

The click as the safety came off was deafening, and Foggy stopped struggling.

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to get out of here and kiss Matt and sleep wrapped in his arms. Matt. Matt was coming. No. He’d told Matt he could take this. Matt would do what he had to, and Foggy just had to survive until he was done.

“So the whore does have teeth after all,” Wesley said. There was snickering from the men who were holding Foggy.

“Not for long,” said one of the Russians.

Wesley chuckled. The gun was pulled out of Foggy’s mouth, and he gasped for air.

“Where is Matthew now?” Wesley said.

“I don’t know,” Foggy managed.

“Who helped you poison the benefit?”

“Nobody. I had nothing to do with it.”

Foggy was hauled up, and thrown face first onto a metal surface. The hood of a car, from the way it buckled. Hands scrabbled at his pants, pulling them down, exposing him to the air.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Wesley said.

“And what?” It came out quieter than Foggy would have liked, but his entire body was raw and battered. It still had strength behind it. “You’ll rape me? What do you really think you can do that you haven’t already done?” And he realized it wasn’t bravado. It was just the truth.

A hand grabbed his hair.

“How many men are in this room?” Wesley’s voice came, soft in his ear. He waited for a response.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said, trapped in the darkness behind the blindfold.

“Good.” Wesley’s breath was hot on his ear. “Because all of them are going to have a turn on you. And you won’t know when it will end. So please, make as much noise as you want. I want Matthew to hear you.” Wesley slammed his face into the metal beneath him for good measure, so Foggy was snorting blood out of his nose.

The first man, whoever he was, pushed in roughly. Foggy felt the slight squelch of lube, not enough, just enough to not burn the cock that was shoved inside him, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Where is Matthew?” Wesley said calmly.

“Enjoying the show?” Foggy snarled. “Bet you’re getting real hard right now.”

Whoever was raping Foggy laughed, and Wesley shut up, which Foggy took as an admission that he was right.

The rapist behind Foggy groaned, and Foggy realized that he hadn’t used a condom as he felt the hot semen inside him. That, more than anything, made him want to cry, collapse, break, but he thought of Matt, he thought of Elektra.

“Harden your heart,” she’d said.

“Take the bastard down,” Foggy had said. He repeated it to himself over and over as a second man started pounding into him.

Then there were gasps around him and the pounding stopped.

“Get the Rofteks!” Wesley shouted. Chaos erupted as men scattered, and Foggy was left bent over the hood of the car with his pants around his ankles and his hands tied behind his back. He tried to move, and a hand shoved his head down, and he felt something hard against the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” came the growled command.

Foggy didn’t hear it start, but he felt it, something that bypassed the ears and reached straight to the animal part of the brain. The hairs on his back stood on end, and a shiver ran down his spine, and he could feel whatever they’d activated in his skin, under it, torturing his very blood.

Matt would never be able to fight something like this.

His heart sank as he realized that Matt hadn’t heeded Elektra’s warning, Matt had instead listened to a frightened voicemail and come after him, and now Wesley was going to kill Matt.

He cried out when he heard the first gunshots, convinced that they were bullets entering Matt’s skull. But then there were more, rapid-fire, and the frightened shouting was from the Russians. He heard them trying to return fire, yelling at each other before they were cut down, then the hand holding him disappeared, and Foggy was surrounded by silence and the scent of blood and gunpowder.

The horrible sonic weapon stopped, and Foggy started breathing.

A hand pulled the blindfold off him, and he saw the yellow metal underneath him. A knife slit the tape holding his hands together, and he brought them around to push himself up, and looked into Frank Castle’s face.

“Where’s Matt?” he said, not understanding. He started to pull up his pants.

“Taking care of Fisk,” Frank said. “He sent me after you.”

Foggy stood on his own two feet and raised his chin. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Frank glanced around, and Foggy saw that Wesley had three bright red spots on the back of his jacket, but he was still moving, trying to crawl away. A handgun entered Foggy’s field of vision, and he saw that Frank was holding it out, grip-first. “If you want,” Frank said.

Foggy took the gun. He had no idea how to use it, but he held it up between two hands, the way they did on TV. Frank reached over and pulled the safety back.

“Go ahead,” Frank said.

Foggy took two steps, so he was only a foot away from Wesley, and pulled the trigger. The back of Wesley’s head disappeared into a mess of red and grey, and Wesley collapsed, twitching once before he stopped moving forever. It should have felt cathartic. It didn’t.

Foggy held the gun out, and Frank took it back.

“We gotta go,” Frank said.

As they passed Wesley’s body, Frank bent and turned the corpse over. He reached into the jacket pocket and pulled out the phone, then nodded to Foggy.

Frank had one of Fisk’s black SUVs parked a block away. As they started driving, Foggy looked at his savior.

“What…” he started, but he didn’t even know what question to ask.

“Wesley tried to have some of the assholes on the security team take me out,” Frank said. “Took them down, took the car, met up with Red and Elektra. They went after Fisk, Red told me to go after you.” Frank paused, turning a corner. “It was Owsley. The benefit, I mean. Red figured it out, went after him. He’ll back us, if Red and Elektra did their part.”

They drove on in silence, because Foggy had nothing to say. Frank pulled up outside Matt’s apartment, and helped Foggy up the stairs. He had keys to Matt’s apartment, and once they were inside, Frank found clean towels to press against Foggy’s wounds, or at least the ones that were bleeding most profusely. Foggy hesitated when Frank tried to get him to lie down on the couch.

“I’ll get blood on it,” he said.

“It’s had worse than that,” Frank said, pushing him down and draping a blanket over him. Foggy hadn’t noticed how much he was shaking. Frank pulled out a bottle of bourbon, and they both drank.

“Ask you something?” Foggy said.

“Shoot.”

“Why do you call him Red?”

Frank took a swig from the bottle.

“First job we did,” he said.

“The guy who…” Foggy wasn’t sure if he should finish that sentence.

“Killed my kid, yeah,” Frank said quietly. “Red…he showed up before the job wearing his suit and this white shirt…Let’s just say, it wasn’t white when we were done.”

Foggy nodded. Somehow, the story didn’t bother him, not anymore.

It was another half hour before Matt and Elektra clattered down the stairs in a storm of blades and bloody clothes. Matt went straight to Foggy, and Foggy noted that he was still in his tux, white shirt stained red.

“Foggy! Foggy, I’m sorry, I had to -“

“I know,” Foggy croaked. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I got him.” He pulled the blanket away and started moving his hands over Foggy’s body, not poking, but gently pressing at him, assessing the damage. “One of your ribs is broken,” he said tightly. “Two more are cracked. Frank?”

“Taken care of,” Frank said. Matt nodded.

“Call Dr West, get him here,” Matt said, and he helped Foggy up off the couch. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Foggy let Matt help him into the bathroom and strip off his bloody clothes. He could barely stand on his own, so Matt stripped naked and stepped under the water with him. It was too awkward for Matt to hold him up and clean him off at the same time, so Matt helped him sink down into the tub. The water beat down on them, and Foggy watched the blood spiral down the drain in a rusty trail. He wondered how much of it was his. He wondered how much of it was Fisk’s.

They stayed there for a while, Foggy’s head nestled against Matt’s shoulder, warm water and warm skin.

“I killed Wesley,” Foggy said.

“I thought you might,” Matt said.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say about that.

Matt’s arm tightened around Foggy’s shoulders, and Foggy realized he was crying. Matt kissed the top of his head.

“It’s over,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

Once the crying stopped, Matt helped him out of the shower and into the bedroom. Foggy was already falling asleep, bone-tired, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the doctor, who stitched and swabbed at him, then gave him painkillers so he could rest. Foggy didn’t remember much else.

Foggy stayed at Matt’s apartment for almost a week. Time moved differently when he took the drugs the doctor left for him. He wasn’t sure he remembered it all, either. He knew the doctor came back, checking on his progress, taking blood samples to be tested.

Matt had to tell him more than once how that night had gone.

Matt had known Owlsley was behind the benefit poisoning. “His heartrate slowed down when people started collapsing,” Matt said. “He relaxed.” He’d gone directly to Owlsley, and they’d negotiated Owlsley’s support for Matt’s strike against Fisk.

Wesley had theorized that Matt, Frank, and Elektra had conspired with Foggy to poison the benefit. He’d ordered some of Fisk’s security team to kill Frank first, but Frank had escaped. He and Elektra had found Matt with Owlsley, which was when Matt had picked up Foggy’s voicemail. Matt had wanted to go after Foggy himself (“I swear, I did.”), but Elektra had convinced him that Wesley was expecting that, and they’d sent Frank instead.

Elektra and Matt had gone to Metro General, and cut down Fisk and his security team. Matt had paid off a doctor to declare Fisk’s death a heart attack.

“What about Vanessa?” Foggy had asked.

“She didn’t make it,” Matt had said. Foggy never asked what that meant.

Taking over from Fisk meant that Matt spent long hours away from Foggy. He’d kiss Foggy goodbye, and come back with news.

Owlsley had thrown his support behind Matt, making most of Fisk’s allies fall in line, since they followed the money.

Landman had tried to turn state’s evidence, and Matt had had two of his crooked cops beat him within an inch of his life. He was in Metro General, with a guard on him who would see that he left New York for his abrupt retirement.

Zack had promoted Marci. “I had nothing to do with that,” Matt said.

Donovan had seen the writing on the wall, and fled to Harlem. Matt had cut a deal with Cornell Stokes, who had delivered Donovan’s body, with his compliments.

Matt came home one night with blood on his shirt cuffs.

“Van Lunt got what was coming to him,” he said. Foggy didn’t smile, just nodded.

“You should come into the office tomorrow,” Matt said one night, as Foggy curled against him. “I…I need you to help me hold it together. I can’t…I can’t do it on my own.”

Matt was gone in the morning when Foggy woke up, so he made his way into the office on his own. His body ached, but he could keep himself upright, at least. He sank into his office chair with a groan, and opened up his email to see one from Matt.

“When you get in, come up to my office,” it said.

Foggy stepped out into the corridor and peered through the door, but Matt’s office was empty. He went back into his office, and was about to type a response, when his brain caught up with him.

Fisk’s old office was now Matt’s.

Foggy took the elevator up, and found Frank lounging outside the office, just as he’d been the day Foggy had arrived at Confed Global.

“He in there?” Foggy said.

“Yeah. Go right ahead,” Frank said.

Foggy pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Matt was sitting behind Fisk’s massive desk, the floor-to-ceiling view of New York behind him. The new Kingpin. He looked like he belonged there.

He smiled as Foggy closed the door.

“Hey, how are you doing?” he said.

“I’ve been better,” Foggy said. No point in lying to Matt.

“Come on, sit down.” Matt gestured at one of the chairs opposite him, and Foggy sank into it. Matt frowned as he heard Foggy sit.

“I’m fine,” Foggy said.

“No, you’re not.” Matt’s fingers twitched on the desktop, then he pushed a small pile across to Foggy. Files and what looked like two computer hard drives.

“What’s this?”

“Tying up loose ends,” Matt said.

Foggy put the hard drives to one side and opened the first file. It was the doctored document from Landman & Zack, the one Wesley had used what seemed a lifetime ago to blackmail Foggy. Foggy looked up at Matt, who was inscrutable. The second file was the real file, the one Foggy had put together, and given to Bonnie. The third made Foggy cough in shock. It contained documents for the transfer of ownership of the buildings on an entire city block, the one Foggy’s parents lived on, to Franklin Percy Nelson, dated yesterday.

“This…” He realized that Matt may not know which file he was holding. “The buildings. I can’t - this must be worth -“

“Millions,” Matt said, putting a pen down in front of Foggy.

Foggy picked up the pen, but didn’t sign. Not yet.

“What are the hard drives?” he said instead.

“Wesley’s office computer and home computer. Frank’s friend Micro’s gone through all his online accounts and scrubbed them of any pictures. And Frank destroyed his phone that night.” And Foggy understood. Any pictures Wesley had of him would be destroyed with the hard drives.

With three files and two hard drives, Matt was offering him his freedom, and enough wealth to do whatever he wanted with it.

He looked at the Landman & Zack files.

“Ask you a question?” he said.

“Anything,” Matt said.

“Why didn’t you kill me like Bonnie?”

Matt let out a long breath. “Because you’re smart. Really smart. You cut through Owlsley’s smokescreens in just a few weeks.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think that should go to waste.”

Foggy nodded. He tapped the pen against the desk.

“What happens if I sign these and walk out that door?” he said.

“I’d ask you to stay.”

“Ask?”

“Ask.” The air was thick with whatever was between them. “Please stay, Foggy,” Matt said quietly.

Foggy signed the transfer documents. There were a lot of them. He tried to add up the property values listed on the documents, but lost track when it hit eight figures. He carefully separated the copies, and pushed Matt’s across the desk to him. Matt put a hand on them, and Foggy let his gaze travel up Matt’s arm to his face.

Wesley had trapped him with threats and fear. He hadn’t had a choice. But whatever Matt thought, Foggy knew that he had just as little choice now. He’d fallen too far into this world, he’d seen too much about the dark side of humanity, and he had blood on his hands now. There was no new life that he could build that could erase any of it.

And Matt needed him.

“I’m guessing that Wesley’s old office is free?” Foggy said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to need my own assistant.”

“Right.” Matt looked a little stunned.

Foggy stood up and came around the desk, looking at the view.

“You should probably redecorate, too,” he said mildly. “You want this place to be about you, not him.”

“I’ll let you take charge on that,” Matt said, turning his chair to face Foggy.

“It’s really not fair that you get this view,” Foggy said, knocking on the glass. “Do you know how spectacular it is?”

Matt stood up and stood behind Foggy, putting his arms around Foggy’s waist.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“You can see all the way downtown. The river’s on the right, and right now, it’s so bright in the sun. And the city’s just…glowing. All laid out in front of you.” He turned his head, and Matt brushed a kiss across his lips. “And you know what? All of it - it’s gonna be ours.”

***

Wow, I still can't quite believe that I managed this epic trash heap. Thanks, all of you who've commented here and over on Ao3, I've been reading them frantically, and you're all amazing!

If you missed the link, I've been posting on Ao3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8873407/chapters/20343787

There are some small stylistic edits, but nothing major.

The floor was cold.

It was a strange fact to fixate on, but as Matt lay naked on the concrete floor, all he could think about was the cold. Not the dark, or the pain, or the blood that he felt smeared against his inner thigh. All he could think about was the fact that his skin was freezing. It was a deep freeze; it bit into his side and stung.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow, steady breath. His stomach clenched, and he tried to move his focus away from the cold. It wasn't that bad. He'd live. He would always survive.

That was when the prison blew up around him.

The explosion ripped through Matt's body, sending him flying smack into the concrete wall next to him. He braced himself, and sprung to his feet, despite his body not having the energy to do so. He ducked down below the cot that was his bed, and found that he was not alone. The smell and shape were hard to distinguish in the mess of sensations, but he knew this body.

"It's time to get you out of here. C'mon."

Frank.

What the hell was Frank Castle doing there? How had he managed to get into the prison? Was he acting of his own--

Matt stopped thinking so hard, as an arm wrapped itself around his middle, and held him up. For some reason, all he could think about was the fact that Frank was so strong. How was he so very strong?

"You've gotta help me out here, Red. Move."

Matt felt like his body was moving without his permission, but he just let it go. He didn't have the strength to do anything but just move with Frank. Bullets were flying from his left side, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care if they hit him or not.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, hearing gunshots coming from Frank. Frank shot down several people who were nearby. The bodies didn't bother him though, nor did the distinct andp owerful smell of death. "Why..."

His last why was caught at the tail end of gunfire, but Frank still heard it.

"Because I owe a woman for reminding me that I do care about something," he said. "And she needed help saving your ass."

Matt closed his eyes, and found that not even the strength of his powers could last with the depression he felt deep inside his soul. He could not see, or sense a single thing anymore as he was pulled through the blur of the burning prison. There were sirens, sirens that broke his ears from the inside. The pain was too much and he dropped.

As he lost consciousness, the last thing that he felt was his body being lifted.

When Matt woke up, he detected nothing. For a moment he thought that his senses had been permanently damaged, broken in some way. Then he realized that the room he was in was just that quiet. He finally started to pick up on the dull whir of machinery and a familiar breathing pattern.

Claire.

"Well hello there," she said, her tone somber. "I was wondering when you were going to come to, Matthew."

Matt shook his head. Claire couldn't be there. She was just another person who was going to end up killed...

"Claire, where are we?" he asked, his voice sounding nothing like it was supposed to. There was just something off, something horrific. "Where...is this?"

"Oh, this is my new place." There was something distant, yet proud in her voice. "I just opened it up with a little help from some friends. It's...a place where people like you can come for help -- and well, I think you need a lot of help right now."

"I'm fine..."

"You're malnourished and dehydrated and...I'm sorry, Matt. I had to do a full physical examination."

Shame rushed through him like a wave. Matt closed his eyes and pressed his head against the pillow.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," Claire said, lightly brushing the back of her hand over his reddened cheek. "I know you're scared. I can't blame you for that. All you have to do now, though, is rest...recover. It'll be okay."

"Fisk."

"I know," Claire assured. "Trust me. This place is very well protected. I met someone and he's really helped me guard this place from all angles... Just rest..."

"Foggy and Karen..."

"Here. Upstairs. Now rest."

Matt's eyes closed.

Yeah...THAT costume...the original comics costume.
Get MCU Matt in that costume. I don't care how or why, just do it and have fun with it (and Foggy wondering where it all went wrong as he dies of laughter)

oh man. This was awesome.
Thnk you really for this gem
Im in the trash with you with this Matt/Frank/Elektra/Foggy thing and how Foggy can take all of what they give to him.
Yeah. I need more of this 4TP

By definition he was a child raised for combat: a "step up" from a child soldier.

Child soldiers are cannon fodder, given drugs like cocaine and minimal to no training before being throw onto the battlefield. While we most often see them depicted as teenagers in media, child soldiers can be any age from teenagers to actual toddlers, and they're little more than a distraction in the long run because they have little chance of surving against trained soldiers unless they have the element of surprise and attack in packs. They definitely come out traumatized and have a lot of problems in their attempts to lead somewhat normal lives if they survive, but with extensive therapy and a good support system it's possible for them to become (mostly) functional adults. A famous example is Ishmael Beah, who wrote his memoir "A Long Way Gone" about his experiences as a child soldier in the conflict that broke out in Sierra Leone during the late 90s-early 2000s.

In contrast, children raised to combat are isolated young, recieve extensive combat training, educated, and are psychologically conditioned. This method is used to promote intelligence and strategy while maintaining obedience and loyalty, as well as to ingrain the ideals of the group responsible for their training. They're a long-term investment, intended to be fully trained and truly loyal to the cause of the group who has raised and trained them by the time they join active combat—which usually happens in early adulthood, mid-late teens at at the absolute youngest. These children are the elites, intended to grow up and eventually act as sucessors to the current leadership.

Once the training has gone far enough, it's nearly impossible to retrain them and safely release them into normal society, because most of them will either be willing to die for the ideology they were raised in or will lay low, put on a show of cooperation, and try to sway others to their side over time in order to rebuild the group that molded them from the ashes. Even the ones that comply will probably remain resentful and uphold their ideals without the right kind of shakeup to prove them utterly wrong and convince them to question themselves and change their mindsets—which is almost impossible if they are near adulthood or reach adulthood still under the sway of the group conditioning them. The Hitler Youth and the KGB are prime examples of this (which inspired the fictional Hydra and Red Room organizations), as are the Spartans and the samurai (who the Chaste draw their inspiration from).

Uni student with honors here, history major+psych minor. I had a unit on child psychology and another on the evolution of warfare; how the warrior culture of old translate into modern day.

Note that when I specified samurai, I did not mention ninjas. For all that the skillset is definitely more similar to the pop culture idea of ninjas, actual ninjas were not extensively trained or educated specialists—they were small-time assassins picked from the general peasant population and used as personal hit squads for warlords after getting the bare minimum of training. Sure, they got to use some cool weapons and have interesting legends based around them, but they were ultimately much less dangerous than a samurai, who would have recieved a lifetime of training and education to become a lethal warrior and strategist, in additipn to being better fed and having better-quality equipment.

The Chaste combine a wandering warrior monk ideal (which is originally Chinese) with the pop-culture ninja, the bare-bones of samurai training and a lot of Spartan methodology. Only samurai+lords could carry and wield katanas, and they also had training+education from childhood onwards. Spartans and samurai alike trained kids starting at six-ish, though the Spartans were more brutal about it, and moved them through hand-to-hand to weaponry to non-fatal single combat up to killing and open combat. The heavy stuff started around thirteen to fifteen, generally they wouldn't become killers until their mid to late teens, and training completed upon reaching adulthood (late teens to early twenties depending on varied factors.

Matt did not complete his training, but he did train with Stick from 10-12, which may not be that long but is still long enough to plant the seeds and lay a framework. If he started training younger like Elektra did, he would have been more receptive to Stick's training. The older young are the harder it is to properly condition you into the frame of mind needed for a child raised to combat, and while Stick didn't enturely miss the window—if he stayed he probably could have turned Matt to his way of thinking through persuasion and exposure—he fucked up and left. In real life children raised to combat are usually encouraged to feel respect and some level of devotion for the teachers in the students in order to more easily manipulate them and cement their loyalty, ie honey vs vinegar/carrit and stick—reward compliance to encourage obedience. However, Stick is a dick and they emphasized the non-attatchment zen buddhist monk attitude instead, so Matt (who is way too emotional and had too many abandonmemt issues to not get attatched) got cut loose as a failure rather than getting lured in and slowly talked around.

So basically instead of abandoning Matt as soon as he found out that he considered him a father figure, Stick sat him down and told him that he didn't want a son, he wanted a soldier, and Matt was gonna have to figure out which one he wanted to be. Matt realizes that the only way Stick was going to stay with him is to be the perfect soldier, so he does.
Stick still leaves to go on, like, missions for the Chaste and everything, but he always comes back and is never gone for more than a few weeks. Matt still lives at St. Agnes most of the time, but he spends the summers with the Chaste, or just Stick. Matt still ends up going to law school, for some reason. Maybe it's somehow beneficial to the Chaste or something; I dunno, you choose.
Stick said he wanted a soldier, but what he made was a weapon. Because obviously our canon Matt doesn't have enough issues in his own, without me asking you guys to give him more.

+++if it shows Matt's first kill
+++++if Stick's training goes beyond physical combat and using his senses into disturbing territory like imbedding trigger words in his subconscious to further hone him into the perfect weapon. And stuff.
+++++++++++if it's a long story. I'll read any fill tho, really

This has been such a great ride, author anon! Thank you thank you thank you for putting your time and effort and heart into this delicious, grounded, dark and so so HOT story. I loved the way you wrote Foggy, who was down but never out, never gave up, always had a good head on his shoulders and I loooved the ending that even though he was 'free' he knew he never really could be. If there was a soundtrack to your story, I imagine the ending would have something with a dark, smooth tone and lots of low bass playing.

When I first came across this prompt I sorta had that bittersweet/wistful feeling because I loved it so much but reckoned that no one would write it. Cut to the day I found your fic on ao3 and imagine my glee when i saw that it was a fill for this prompt! Over the past year or so bumbling about on the km there's only ever been 2 prompts that I really, really wanted filled and now that one of them has, I gotta say it has been the most fun and good time eagerly reading and then waiting for what you have planned next.

I eagerly look forward to reading more of your writing, and thank you once again for gifting us with this superb fic. You have made one reader really happy and been a constant light during what has been an otherwise dreary past few weeks :)

ONWARDS TO PROMPT POST #12!

NO NEW PROMPTS AFTER THIS POINT.
THAT INCLUDES MISFIRES. THEY WILL BE DELETED, SO DON'T FILL THEM.

In the comics, Frank did become a cop after returning from the war, and rather than a sting gone wrong causing their deaths, he and his family were deliberately targeted after Frank caught on to backroom dealings. He found out that a number of his coworkers on the force were dirty, and he was gathering evidence to report them. The ringleader had been selling info to the mob and was the one who put a bullet in Frank's head, he and his cohorts disguised themselves and made it look like a mob hit. Reyes was pretty much the same and Schoonover was transporting heroin in soldier's coffins, among other things.

Why hasn't anyone done this yet? I would read the hell out of it!

This is beautiful and I love it. Will you be crossposting this on AO3 or another site?

+1!

“Oh my God,” Karen finally says when they land, feet firmly planted on concrete, body still pressed tightly against Matt’s.

“Vertigo? It’ll pass,” he says, but Karen shakes her head. It’s New York spread out before them, thousands of lights and thousands of shadows. Compared to the sprawl of the city, the sky above her barely registers; it’s an afterthought, pointless next to the stories being lived out there on the streets, in the light and in the dark.

She's still riding high on adrenaline, though, from the fight below and their wild trip up and the feel of him against her, and Karen's sure he's picking up on it. If she can hear her heart pounding, he certainly can.

But she's pretty sure his is pounding, too. Matt's breathing through parted lips again, a gentle arch that Karen's thinking about kissing into action. His fingers are flexing at her hips, digging in deep, and Karen would give him the same treatment if it weren't for that damned armor.

She's sick of him being locked away from her. She's done with it.

“You gonna tell me where the zipper is on this thing, or are you gonna hold still while I go looking?”

“Both -” Matt's tongue darts over his lip. “Both have their appeal.”

Her choice. Good. Karen rests her hand below his waist, just where the zipper would be to Matt Murdock’s work trousers. She can’t feel his dick through all that leather - not to mention, surely the suit’s got a cup built right in - but she’s willing to bet that the weight of her hand is registering to him right now. And indeed, only a moment later, Matt blows out a breath, yanks off his gloves, and tosses them to the ground.

Taking Karen's hand, he leads her to a zipper that begins high beneath his arm. She drags it down slowly, listening to the give of the tiny metal teeth, until it ends down past his hip, at the very top of his thigh.

Matt's wearing another layer underneath. It's black and skin-tight, reminding her of the shirt he used to wear when he was just the man in a mask, and it feels nice when she skims her fingers over it, satiny and body-warm. But she can only reach so much; the armor is still infuriatingly in her way, so Karen squeezes his waist and says, “Finish the job.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.” Matt's swaying slightly, leaning into her touch. “How about - over there?”

A small brick structure sits near the center of the roof, housing a stairwell, or possibly mechanical equipment - Karen isn't sure. It’s warmer there, sheltered from the wind, and as soon as they reach it Matt pulls off his helmet and drops it at her feet.

There it is. The image burns into her brain in the short moments before he begins working his way out of the suit: Matt's familiar face, wearing the Devil’s body.

She'd pictured it in her mind before, of course, played that mental game dozens of times. Sometimes she'd begin with her own memories, thinking back on that night in the warehouse and wishing the helmet away; other times, she played it with the videos, pausing the fights to focus on the blurry line of Daredevil’s jaw, to imagine the mask gone, the slope of his nose and forehead revealed….

It was never all that difficult. It grew startlingly easy when she shaded in a bruise she'd seen Matt wear, high on his cheekbone, and added a wicked cut on his lip. She’d kissed around it so carefully, once.

Some guy had knocked into him in a stairwell, and he’d bitten down hard. So the story went.

eeeee, it lives!!!

go karen, you keep knocking matt off-balance. and also, i like the little aside (even in the middle of all this adrenaline-soaked lust) where karen thinks the sky is an afterthought to the city and all the lives that form it. :)

Very good, more please!

I am all a-swooning with this! The way you have them interact is beautiful and exciting, and I can't wait for whatever's coming next <3

Matt thrashed from side to side. He still couldn't 'see,' his senses blocked by something deep inside of himself. He was blind, unable to sense a single thing. He lashed out with his elbow, then kicked out his leg, hard. There was a crash, and a cry, and he sat up.

"Luke, help me!"

That was Claire. He recognized her voice instantly, at least.

Suddenly, there were hands on him -- strong, firm hands. There was a strong man and he was holding Matt down.

"Buddy, c'mon, stop," said an unfamiliar voice. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, okay?"

Matt shook his head. No. They always hurt him. His only purpose in life was to be hurt. This one was another one of Fisk's, and it was going to hurt just the same.

"Matthew."

Oh, Claire. Claire was there.

That was when he remembered exactly where he was. He took a breath and nodded. Claire meant that he was safe -- if he could ever be safe again.

"You hear me?" Claire asked.

Matt nodded.

"Good," she said gently. "I want you to know right now that you're safe. This is Luke. I figured that your senses were thrown off, but this is Luke. He's a friend; he's one of us."

"Okay..."

She stayed close to him. He could, at least, feel her hands as she reached over and carded her fingers through his hair. That felt nice.

"We're in danger," Matt groaned. "He blew up the newspaper office, just because I tried to fight back. He's not gonna rest until you're dead...not now..."

"He's not well, as far as we know," said Luke. "They're not even sure if he's going to make it. Even if he does, we've got this place guarded. Friend of ours, Danny, has friends in high places. We'll be okay."

"You don't understand," Matt said, rising slowly and getting out of the bed. Even though his senses were dull, and seemed broken, he could tell that Claire's buddy Luke was half a second from tackling him down, and that scared him. "Even if he's hurt; hell, even if he dies right now, he's not going to stop. He's made himself perfectly clear to me."

"He's not going to do anything," Claire said, the intensity in her voice enough to shut him up. "You're going to have to trust, Matt. I know that's hard, but you must trust us."

Matt did something he didn't even think possible - he let go.

I know this is super late, but I saw the prompt and couldn't just not write it. It may not be exactly what the OP was looking for, cuz it's from Matt's perspective, but it's something.
Fill: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12322379/1/We-re-All-Killers-Here

Foggy surprises himself by not asking too many questions. Matt and Jack want to have time to talk and quite understandably they don’t need Foggy hanging around as third wheel. Foggy gently has to interrupt twice to promise Matt that he absolutely is not offended that the guy wants to talk with his dad. Maybe if Foggy had paid more attention to conversations in the room at large instead of reassuring his friend, he might understand how on earth he had wound up with the Winter Soldier as a temporary roommate.

All of Foggy’s remaining belongings had been moved to an attractive two-bedroom apartment with rooftop access while he was staying in Stark’s tower. Pepper Potts had been the one to explain that she could have movers set up Foggy’s original apartment again once the cleaning crews were finished. Foggy had decided that he wasn’t going to argue if Tony Stark was going to set him up with a rent-controlled apartment in a better neighborhood.

Barnes had reluctantly conceded that ‘Bucky’ would work after about six hours of catching up on Foggy’s Netflix queue. Bucky and Matt were concerned that a different Hydra sect might try to grab Foggy. They also were not convinced that Maria’s FBI contacts had rounded up every bit of Wilson Fisk’s operation. Bucky had volunteered to stay in Foggy’s apartment for a couple days and deal with any attempts that Hydra might make.

Somehow, that had mostly ended up with Foggy ordering truly ludicrous amounts of takeout food and cracking up while Barnes bitched his way through action movies. After half an hour of Bucky grumpily discussing why any movie character’s gun handling was terrible or their lack of gun safety would kill the entire cast, Foggy had offered to find something else. Bucky had half-smirked and promised that he didn’t mind as long as Foggy could stand the commentary.

Two days in, Foggy was just as quick to notice terrible ideas in gunmanship. Both of them had noticed when Bucky’s phone chirped at forty-seven hours into his deal. Foggy figured his new friend was an adult and would handle it however he liked. Ten minutes after the forty-eight hour chirp, was a tentative knock on the door forty-eight hours and ten minutes after the deal ran out.

Foggy knew he was right because Bucky let him check the door personally. Bucky had been giving every delivery person in the area a very thorough lookover before accepting food. After glaring as if he could see straight through them, however, Bucky had tipped each one with a twenty-dollar bill. Foggy was going to have a very weird reputation with the local delivery places.

Foggy glanced through the fisheye lens and picked out broad shoulders and a very sharp jaw. He also could see Sam Wilson standing behind Cap’s shoulder.

Foggy undid the chain and three locks that Bucky called sufficient. He opened the door and pretended that he couldn’t notice that Captain America looked like a feather could knock him over. “You brought food and beer!” Foggy said cheerfully. “Sam, want to help me get this opened up in the kitchen for a minute?”

If Bucky didn’t want to talk to his friend, Foggy figured that he would have vanished in the time it took Foggy to fiddle with the second deadbolt. Foggy’s windows were similarly secured and the fire escape had easy access to the rooftop for acrobatic sorts like Barnes.

Foggy noticed that Bucky was slowly moving to his feet as he and Sam walked over to the kitchen. That was all he needed to know. He set the six-pack of beer he had grabbed from Captain America on the tiny kitchen island and resolutely faced away from the living room while he grabbed out clean silverware and found a few plates.

“Nice place,” Sam said. “I heard Stark helped?”

“He said something about a birthday present from Hydra?” Foggy shrugged. “I’m really not sure where he got the money, but he’s Tony Stark, so I figure he won’t go bankrupt bribing me into a nice apartment and replacing half the furniture. Someone tore my old place apart. I don’t really care if it was Hydra or Fisk’s guys but Maria said she’ll let me know. The feds would love to add charges for somebody.”

Sam found the magnetic bottle opener on Foggy’s fridge. It was actually hard to miss. The bottle opener was an Iron Man figure posed with one arm curled as if showing off biceps. The round space between helmet and arm had a bottle opener tucked inside.

Foggy was happy to accept an open bottle of beer. He didn’t recognize the brewer but that meant about nothing lately. It was tasty and it was a welcome distraction from whatever super-soldier business was going on across the room.

“You gonna share those beers or what?” Bucky asked a minute later. “Also we’re watching Die Hard again unless someone has a thing. Wilson, this guy’s never seen a classic.”

“Says the man who watched it for the first time yesterday,” Foggy replied lightly. “Pull the coffee table over, we can move the food there. There’s enough Italian here for eight of me and I’ve been fed by an Italian grandma.”

Steve was immediately on board with analyzing terrible tactical decisions. Foggy listened happily as the two very famous men ragged on each other and a fictional cop over large plates of rigatoni. After several minutes of looking on happily, Sam leapt into the fray to argue with both of them and the movie. Their commentary was so detailed that Matt would be able to picture most of the movie.

Foggy should have been more surprised that there was an extra guest by the time the video ended. He had heard Sam locking the door, and he knew the window locks had been in place, but the Black Widow was sitting cross-legged in his new recliner with a plate of pasta in her lap.

Being adopted by superheroes was pretty great, really.

Thanks again to OP for a very fun prompt, and for all the comments and love here. Full story posted on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653291

---

With Jack’s full encouragement and Foggy’s immediate approval, Matt took the second bedroom in Foggy’s apartment. Living alone for the first time was hard enough without any one of the challenges Matt was tackling head-on.

Matt’s rotating group of occupational therapists and speech-language therapists gradually move his appointments to their offices. Foggy has a hard time remembering to not roll his eyes at the people that constantly get in Matt’s way when he’s moving down the sidewalk with his red-tipped cane. Most people on the street will never know that Matt is a badass that occasionally works with the Avengers on local crimes.

Fogwell’s Gym steadfastly refused all extra money Stark waves in their direction until Foggy diffidently pointed out that it would be nice to get the place fixed back up. The owner begrudgingly accepted enough to finish repairing all the windows and a few prototype punching bags Stark had personally designed. Foggy suspects that might be because the prototypes came with a new gym member. The old-timers all have a marvelous time yelling at Rogers to stop being so fancy with the footwork and put some back into those punches.

Foggy stops at Fogwell’s Gym twice a week but makes sure to time his sessions around court dates. He’s more interested in keeping up his stamina than losing weight or learning how to destroy kidneys with a single punch. A few months into his lessons, Jack Murdock steps back into the ring again, and Matt happily battles it out after-hours. It turns out that a lot of sparring with Avengers was a good introduction to fighting without constantly seeking out an opening for a fatal blow.

Marci is seeing someone in Stark Tower and it’s serious enough that she isn’t interested in flirting with Foggy. Karen, however, is a beautiful woman and Foggy flirts with her outrageously whenever he stops by Stark Legal. They all know that Karen has zero interest in leaving Marci behind, but if Marci didn’t have a reason to roll her eyes at Foggy, she just might make one.

Marci and Karen regularly have lunch with Pepper Potts. Foggy is pretty sure that everyone should be more nervous about that than they are.

Matt keeps busy. On top of all his other lessons, he tears through GED prep and has started looking into local colleges. A few talks with Karen and the rest of the people he had saved ended with Elena Cardenas acting as Matt’s RCIA sponsor.

On days when Matt isn’t having tea with Mrs. Cardenas or trying out the obstacle course with the Avengers or saving part of Manhattan, sometimes he trails Foggy to court. Stark had set up a grant program to fund pro bono work. Marci and the rest of Stark’s legal wizards had somehow put together the program and nudged some FBI contact to recommend Foggy. Foggy has a modest legal office and an income that lets him afford his rent and groceries and utility bills all at the same time.

Foggy isn’t sure if Matt likes the idea of arguing with people for a living or if being a human polygraph really is as fun as it sounds, but Matt has started asking about various universities’ pre-law programs. Foggy is probably cheating when he notices Matt’s subtle hand signals that mean that a witness or lawyer is lying. He doesn’t let that stop him from taking advantage of the information.

Tony Stark is incapable of being calm for five minutes straight so he already made a sign for Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law with a long Braille message curving along the letters of Matt’s last name. Foggy’s knowledge of Braille isn’t quite good enough to pick it out just yet, but by the time Matt finishes his bachelor’s degree Foggy thinks he’ll have it figured out.

this is lovely ♥

When Matt woke up next, his senses felt a little bit better. They weren't back to where they should be, no, but at the same time he could sesne the world around him a little better. He listened to his own heartbeat, the steady thump that assured him he was alive -- even though a part of him was very afraid of that beating.

He waved his hands in front of his face. No, he couldn't see them, but he could sense the presence, the movement, and for a moment that was enough for him. He took a deep, steady breath.

Karen. He recognized that Karen was pretty close by. As he allowed himself to calm down, he could hear her voice. It was far away, but it was Karen all the same. She was talking to someone in a quiet room. They were several rooms away from Matt.

"Fisk killed people to send Matt a message," she said, delicately. "There's no secret to that. Even if he's dead, which I sincerely doubt, we have to deal with the fact that there is significant risk to this facility."

"I know that." That was Claire again. "I realize that, but we all agree that he's worth it."

"He may be dead."

That was Foggy. God, they were all here and they were discussing what to do about him. That was not how Matt wanted things to go.

"He may die," Karen agreed, "but that doesn't mean that this is over. There's no way that someone like Fisk didn't have plans put in place in wake of his death."

"That's true," Foggy murmured, hesitant to accept her words as truth. "But this place is secure, right?"

"Sure," Claire said, "but even if it was the most secure facility on earth, which it's not, Matt can't live here for the rest of his life. We have to figure something out."

Matt closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow. There was nothing that they could do. As hard as they tried, Fisk was going to win in the end. He had already won, honestly, because he hadb broken Matt at his core. He was scared, he was tired and there was no hope for him.

"I'm going to go talk to him."

Karen. Damn it. Matt closed his eyes.

She walked into the room and Matt tried to relax his face, pretend that he was sleeping. Maybe she would buy it and he could at least delay the conversation that was coming to them.

"Matt, I know you're not asleep."

No. It was very hard to get things past Karen Page.

"Matt," she sighed heavily. "Come on. I know that you're not asleep, and I'd like to talk to you, for just a moment..."

The desperation in her voice was enough to make him open his eyes.

"Karen," he whispered. "I'm tired, and I don't really want to talk right now."

"Don't talk then," she said, pulling up a chair. He could hear the drag of the chair against the tile. She sat down across from him. "Listen."

Matt said nothing. He knew she'd speak whether or not he was talking.

"I can't even begin to fathom what he put you through," Karen said quietly. "I can't, and there's nobody else who can either. You were violated at the most basic level, and I can't change that, Matt -- but I've been there too. Not to the same extreme, but I have been violated, destroyed in the same exact way."

"Karen, please..."

He didn't want to hear this. He didn't need to hear it.

"I know how hopeless you feel right now," she murmured. "That much I can understand. You feel like what happened to you is going to define you forever. And while it's going to affect you for the rest of your life, it's not going to define you. We're going to get you through this. We're a family."

"It doesn't matter how I feel," Matt said. "Fisk nearly killed you because I fought back. What's he going to do now that I've escaped?"

"He's not going to do anything," Karen said. "Even if he lives and comes back ten times as strong, he's not going to do anything."

"How can you say that?" Matt asked desperately.

"Because," she said, reaching over and stroking her hand through his hair again. He leaned into the touch, finding that it calmed the buzzing inside of him, the nerves that couldn't stop firing, "we're together. We're a unified group. Foggy's brought in Jessica - oh, you have to meet Jessica Jones. She has connections to his law firm and they owe her a ton of favors. Claire's brought in her friend Luke and they both know this guy Danny, who's into some mystical shit that even I can't comprehend. We're all here and we're together."

"Together," Matt murmured.

"Yeah, together," she said. "You've always had to fight things on your own, Matt. You don't have to anymore."

The world was still upside down, but Karen's words were a comfort. They brought hope.

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Page 161 of 165

Daredevil Prompt Post #11

Re: FILL - Nelson and Murdock v. New Year's Eve

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [11a/11]

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [11b/11]

Fill - Upside Down - 8/? - Matt, tw: noncon, rape

Yellow Daredevil

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [11b/11]

Re: Gen, Public Finds Out Daredevil was a Child Soldier

Re: Gen, Public Finds Out Daredevil was a Child Soldier

Matt & Stick. Stick stayed and made Matt into a weapon

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [11b/11]

Stop!

Re: Frank the cop

Re: Matt/Foggy - sensory deprivation

Re: Fill: Positive 2b/?

Re: Matt & Stick. Stick stayed and made Matt into a weapon

[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [8/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [8/?]

Re: Fill: Positive 2b/?

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [8/?]

Fill - Upside Down - 9/? - Matt, tw: noncon, rape

Fill: We're all killers here, Gen or Frank/Matt, self-righteous Avengers getting called out

Fill: Situation Excellent 11/12

Fill: Situation Excellent 12/12

Re: (FILL) Kid!Matt and post season 2 fix-it [3/3]

Fill - Upside Down - 10/10 - Matt, tw: noncon, rape