Chapter Text
Matt Murdock had always considered himself a man of god. He still carried that sentiment, even after all the years of waking nightmare he'd endured. He made an effort to attend church every Sunday, and, despite the usual obstacles that came with being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he kept a relatively solid record. His boyfriends' undying support of his admittedly ludicrous beliefs certainly helped. Considering the fact that Wade had literally had an affair with Death herself and Peter's experience with the most vile corners of the multiverse, Matt was still surprised by their enthusiasm for his Sunday ritual sometimes. He supposed he should have known better by that point in their relationship, but he still struggled with accepting love from others, even with the S.H.I.E.L.D. appointed therapy sessions.
As much as the weekly sermons soothed his frayed nerves, the part of the routine he looked forward to most was coming home. Sunday was Wade and Peter's big day off, which meant they both caught up on six days of missed sleep well into the afternoon. Matt always gave both of them a soft kiss before leaving, rousing them just enough to crack one eye open and smile dreamily at him. They were always still fast asleep by the time he returned. He could hear their slow, steady breaths as he walked the short distance between the run-down, little church and the apartment building. He'd learned to focus on that sound alone, drowning out the rest of the city noises that plagued him constantly. Given his history, Matt wasn't one to rely on stabilty, but he'd fallen into the habit of self-soothing that way so easily. He was dependent on the small comforts his lovers brought him, however involuntarily.
Once he arrived at the building's side entrance, Matt opted to take the stairs, leisurely tapping his cane against each one. He reveled in the temporary ability to take his time. Between his day job and his night job, he rarely found opportunity to relax. Lawyer-ing was virtually impossible with an ass-backwards schedule like his, but, in a feat of pure stubbornness, he'd found a way to make it work, much to the chagrin of his fellow avocado at law and best friend. Foggy had taken quite some time to come around to the idea, because "how the fuck can anyone be a stay-at-home lawyer, Matthew?" Matt always found a way, though. Scouring over case files from the comfort of the living room couch did absolutely nothing to mitigate the stress of it all, but it did save him a great deal of time, which he, of course, used to beat the shit out of bad guys. He remembered to take a moment to appreciate the women in his life every time he sat in the pews, because "give him a damn break, Foggy. He's already dealing with way too much for one guy. Go home, Matt. We'll handle it."
Climbing up six flights of stairs while being completely fucking blind was a lengthy process, or it would've been if Matt was a normal man. He liked to pretend he did lead a normal life in those fleeting moments. He allowed himself to entertain the fantasy that he was nothing more than an average churchgoer returning home to his lovers, after which the three of them would experience an average day, void of any chaos, together. He never dared vocalize such thoughts at any point, much less in front of Peter or Wade, but he was certain they knew somehow. He often felt that his boys were underneath his skin when they looked at him, peeling back the layers of rigidity and mystery he'd spent so long building up and exposing the scared, little man inside. He trusted them fully, perhaps foolishly. They hadn't let him down once in all the years they'd been loving each other. A small part of Matt still clung to the abandonment he'd been so accustomed to, but that voice grew quieter with every little touch, every chaste kiss, every loving embrace.
He slipped in through the front door of their apartment in theoretical silence. The cat greeted him happily as she did every time any of the three of them came home. That was part of the routine, too. Matt would have felt incomplete without the brush of her plush fur under his fingertips. Wade said her fur was the color of storm clouds. Matt held vague memories of watching such clouds form as a child, staring in wonder out the dingy kitchen window of his father's decaying apartment. He'd long since come to terms with his disability, but, in his moments of weakness, he longed to gaze at the endless sky again. He wished he could look into his lovers' eyes and actually see them. Peter said Matt's eyes were cloudy, that milky white swirls covered his corneas. He and Wade became Peter's science experiments sometimes. Their little spider had run a slew of tests on Matt's eyes over the years. Matt didn't understand any of them, but Peter's excitement over new discoveries made him a willing participant.
He knew his boys would be sprawled out across the bed every time he returned from his Sunday errand, without fail. Peter usually mashed his face into Matt's pillow while he was gone. Wade always splayed his limbs out as far as possible, taking up most of the mattress and resigning Peter to the very edge. Matt listened to the strange rhythms of their heartbeats while he stripped himself of his church clothes. Peter's spider heart slowed considerably when he slept, almost to the point of a normal human but not quite. Wade's heart never beat steadily. Matt had thought the phrase "skipping a beat" was merely an expression until he met the Merc With a Mouth. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if Wade was ever truly alive. His erratic heartbeat calmed Matt nonetheless.
Once he was stripped down to his boxers, or completely naked if the mood struck, he climbed into his side of the bed, jostling Peter enough for him to scooch over and nudge Wade back into his spot. Then, the three of them settled into comfortable sleep together. During those late mornings, as he drifted off surrounded by warmth and love, Matt blearily thought his life was alright after all. Days full of crime and vigilante justice weren't so bad when he could spend them with the two men he loved more than he ever knew he could love anyone. Stability certainly was nice.