Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two men sat on a rooftop overlooking the harbor. Frank sat on a crate, blanket over his shoulders and a thermos of tea in his hand. He’d come prepared for the stakeout to last several hours, and so far he had been correct.

Red, on the other hand, crouched right on the edge of the roof, his gargoylish silhouette framed against the orange lights below. No one could have mistaken him for a statue, though, with how his head kept twitching from side to side. Frank had to admit it made him uneasy

The two of them rarely worked together. Red couldn’t spend one minute with the Punisher without going on some bleeding-heart monologue about mercy and second chances, and Frank couldn’t listen to it without wanting to throw up. Tonight, though, was one of those rare times when the two could set aside their differences long enough to get something done. They’d both been tracking the same trafficking ring for months, until running into each other two weeks ago and making a plan to take them down together. Word was they were coming in tonight.

They’d checked each shipping container until Red found the one that was full of frantic heartbeats. They’d set up camp on a roof opposite it. When the men came, they’d unlock the container, then get beat up by the waiting vigilantes. It wasn’t a thorough plan. Neither Frank nor Red were much for tactics, and tended to go in guns, and fists, blazing. Frank had nothing to lose, and fought like it. He hadn’t quite figured out Red’s deal, but he definitely didn’t act like someone with a family waiting at home.

Frank had long since gotten over the irony of having a blind man for a look out. Red had tried to explain a few times how his senses worked, but it all sounded like gibberish. All Frank had to know was that it worked.

Red stiffened.

“Talk to me, Red. What’s going on?”

Frank had already grabbed the gun that lay beside him.

“Four men, all armed. Coming in from the south.”

“These our guys?”

Red held up a hand to silence Frank. He cocked his head, angling his ear to the shipyard below.

“Container four ten. We were right.” He rose to his full height. “I’ll get the hostages out. Cover us.”

“That’s the plan,” Frank sighed.

Daredevil leapt, silently, from the rooftop, landing in the shadows and stalking up behind the men.

“Show off,” Frank muttered.

He crouched low, stalking across the roof like a cat following its prey. His deal with Red said that he would try to neutralize the traffickers without killing them whenever possible. Of course, it would rarely be possible. The quickest way to take someone out of the equation was a shot to the head. Anywhere else and you risked just slowing them down. You lost valuable time and a bullet that could have been used on someone else. 

Red loved to talk about mercy. Frank was giving these pieces of shit far more mercy than they deserved with a speedy death. He was quick, clean, and efficient. Red was messy. Anywhere he went he left his enemies writhing in pain, some of ‘em pleading to be put out of their misery.

Frank peered through the scope at the men walking down the dock. The streetlights combined with their own white flashlights made their silhouettes easily discernible. They were definitely armed. One of the men began to fiddle with the lock, while the others peered nervously into the shadows. They didn’t spot Daredevil, though, until it was too late. His body seemed to curve around the bullets in slow motion as the muzzles of the men’s assault rifles lit up. A single kick took out two of them, and the Billy clubs handed the other two. Red stood for a few seconds over their fallen bodies, tilting his head from side to side.

“Clear?” Frank asked, barely whispering. Red nodded. They couldn't use earpieces because it messed with his senses too much. The most they could do was have Frank talk, and Red respond with visual cues. 

He slid open the door to the container and stepped inside. It was dark, and Frank couldn't see shit. He was a great shot, but he couldn't curve bullets or shoot what he couldn't see.

“I don't like this,” Frank muttered before an explosion of gunfire met his ears. “Shit,” he swore. He dropped the large rifle and slid down the ladder to the ground. He pulled a smaller gun from his hip as he ran, but Red had already dealt with them by the time he got there.

“What the hell was that?”

Daredevil was breathing heavily, and Frank's footsteps echoed slightly as he approached.

“It was a trap.” His head was pivoting jerkily from side to side. “They sped up their heart rates and hid their weapons.” The echo,” He waved his hand around vaguely, “everything's fuzzy.”

Red stumbled, and Frank caught him by the shoulder.

“You alright?”

“I don't-” He sounded out of breath. “Dizzy.”

“Well let's get outta here, ‘cause I can't see jack.”

One of the men stirred on the ground, and Frank stomped on his hand for good measure. He was practically carrying Red by the time he laid him down in a shaded alley. It was out of the way, there was no telling when the cops would show up, but the street lights gave enough light for Frank to see the vibrant red of the costume.

Red Kevlar, red boots, red mask, red blood. There was a growing puddle beneath the vigilante and on his chest, leaking from two ragged holes in his chest. The man tried to rise, but Frank pushed him back to the ground.

“You’re hit.”

“That would explain why my chest is on fire,” he joked. But his voice was weak, and his heart wasn't in it.

“Stay with me, Red,” Frank growled. “I'm gonna get you help.”

“No,” he gasped as Frank tried to move him. “It's not- it's not something you can fix, I can feel it.”

“You're not thinking straight.” Frank's heart was beginning to pound.

“Listen, Frank. You know as well as I do what someone can't survive.”

He was right. Damnit he was right. Frank had seen enough soldiers with similar wounds. The placement, the size, the fact that there were exit wounds… But he couldn't die. Daredevil couldn't die 

His mouth had gone slack. Frank couldn't see his eye under the mask, not that it would have mattered.

“Hey,” He shook him sharply. “C'mon Red. Don't give up on me.” He was still breathing, barely. “Daredevil,” Frank tried, shouting the name. He knew his name. What was it? M something. Mike? “Murdock! Matthew Murdock!”

He jerked to life, seizing Frank's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. The other hand went to his mask, making sure it was still in place.

“Who-?” He gasped. “How long have you known?"

“Since you were my lawyer.”

“No one can know. You understand me? No one can know who doesn't already.”

“And who's that?”

“Foggy Nelson. Karen Page. Father Lantom.” His next words were barely audible. “Clinton Church. Take me to Clinton church. Last rites.”

Frank wanted to protest. He wanted to yell at him again to hold on. Instead, he just said: “okay.”

It was a good thing that Frank had driven to the docks that night. He stuck to the shadows as he carried Red, but they didn't encounter anyone. He knew Clinton church. It wasn't far. Even so, he was afraid Red wouldn't make it that far.

He still had a pulse when they arrived. Frank turned off the car and practically ran to the door. He didn't know if anyone would answer his knocks, or if they would turn him in; his face was pretty recognizable. But Red trusted them. That was all Frank had time to care about right now.

After the third knick, the door was opened by a nun. Her eyes grew wide as they recognized Frank's face, and the blood that covered his hands.

“I'm not armed,” Frank said, quickly, and spread his hands. “I need to see Father Lantom, it's urgent.”

The nun nodded slowly. “Of course.”

She returned shortly with the priest. Frank eyed the nun warily.

“This is a delicate matter.”

“Sister Maggie will keep any secret needed of her.”

Frank sighed. “You know Daredevil?” He tried to read their expressions, but they were remarkably stoic. “He's dying.”

The three of them carried him inside and laid him on a table. Frank backed away, unsure of what to do. He felt out of place.

“Matthew.”

Sister Maggie stiffened and her eyes widened. Father Lantom looked at her and nodded. She put a hand over her mouth.

“Frank,” Matthew whispered.

“I’m here.” Frank stepped closer to the table.

“Keep them safe. Foggy and Karen. Promise me.”

“I promise.” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder so he knew he was there. Funny, when had Frank started to think of him as a friend?

“Thank you.”

Frank stepped away again. Sister Maggie pulled off the cowl, revealing a shockingly pale face. His eyes were closed, but Frank could see them moving under their lids. The nun looked on the verge of tears.

“You have to tell him,” Father Lantom said.

“Tell me what?”

The nun hushed him gently, like a mother would. Frank needed to leave. This wasn't the place for him anymore. But once he shut the door behind him, he couldn't make himself go far. So he settled for waiting just beyond the door. The priest said a prayer. Frank couldn’t make out the words. Then he fell silent. Then the woman screamed, a sobbing, choked scream. Frank knew it too well. It was the one he had wanted to make when he found out about his family.

Matthew Murdock was dead.

Chapter Text

A hoodie and a baseball cap were a better disguise than a lot of people realised, especially when no one was looking for the Punisher. Frank hadn’t gone home last night. He’d stashed his clothes and guns in one of his drop sites and changed into street clothes. Then he’d wandered. His feet guided themselves while his mind raced. He pictured the faces of the men on the ground of the ship yard, and what he’d do to them when he found them.

As the sun began to color the tops of the buildings, Frank found himself outside a familiar apartment building. The curtains of Karen’s window were shut tight. That could mean she was home sleeping, blissfully unaware of how her life was about to turn upside down. Or maybe she was sitting in there, alone and grieving.

Turned out she was out. Frank spotted her walking down the street, head down and eyes red. She wore a long coat, and her hair was pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail. Frank crossed the street quickly and gently grabbed her arm. She startled and reached for her purse where he knew a gun was concealed. But her face relaxed as she realized who he was. The red rimming her eyes made the blue stand out like crystal, delicate and easily shattered.

“Karen,” What could he say? “Karen I’m so sorry.”

She’d been holding herself together, but barely. Her face broke as she began to sob, leaning into Frank’s chest. He held her tightly, rubbing small circles on her back. The morning crowd parted around them like a rock in a stream, only sparing the briefest of glances.

The coffee pot was empty, which Frank quickly remedied. Karen held a steaming mug with both hands, staring at a seemingly arbitrary spot on her coffee table.

“Foggy’s at the church,” she said. Her voice was dry and scratchy, having cried out all of its tears. “They’re making arrangements.”

Frank nodded. Now that the storm was over, he didn’t know quite what to do. He settled on listening.

“The police called us at around four this morning, Foggy and me,” she explained. “We’re the closest thing he had to-” She cut off and took a long, shuddering breath. “To family.” She looked up and met Frank’s eyes. “Y’know, the whole time we were walking to the station, I thought, ‘maybe it isn’t him. Maybe they made a mistake and it’s some other blind man covered in scars.’ I didn’t realize how many scars he had until they pulled back that sheet. I just saw the top of his chest, but even that… I was so angry, when he first told me he was Daredevil. Now all I can think about is how much pain he must have been in, all by himself. And then I go back to being angry, because he didn’t have to be.”

“When did he tell you?” Frank was shocked when he found out that she hadn’t known the whole time

“Christmas. Right after we all got kidnapped, and Nelson and Murdock imploded. I guess the guilt finally got to him.”

“He did it to protect you.”

“Yeah, and that worked so well!” Her eyes flashed almost frighteningly. She put a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t… I’m not angry at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” She shook her head. 

Her phone began to ring in her bag. She cleared her throat and answered.

“Hey Foggy. Yeah. Yeah I made it home okay.” She listened for a while. “I can’t go out right now. You could come over here if you want. Okay. I’ll see you in ten.”

Karen hung up and looked back at Frank. “Foggy’ll be here soon.”

“Good. I need to talk to him, too.” Given Karen’s feelings on being protected, Frank decided now wouldn’t be a good time to tell her what he had promised Matt.

“You were there!” Karen realized. “The cameras at the church were out, but they said he just stumbled in. The police assumed it was a mugging gone wrong, but we know that’s bullshit. I didn’t think we’d ever… Frank, what happened?”

“We were following these guys for weeks. Finally had ‘em cornered down at the docks, but they were waitin’ for us.” Tears began to prick at Frank’s eyes. What the hell were those about? “Whole container was full of traffickers. Red took ‘em all out before I even got down there. I shouldn’t have let him go down there alone.”

Fresh tears were rolling down Karen’s cheeks. Her voice was barely audible. “Do you know who did it?”

“I don’t know who pulled the trigger.” I’ll find out, though, Frank thought. And when I do, I’m gonna take his head, and I’m gonna-

A knock came at the door. Karen got up quickly and looked through the peep hole. She opened it, and Foggy Nelson stepped through the door. His hair was shorter than when Frank had last seen him, and he wore an expensive looking wool coat. He pulled Karen into a hug, not noticing Frank on the couch until he broke away. Then his face hardened.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Foggy began to march towards him, but Karen grabbed onto his arm.

“Foggy, wait.”

“You did this, didn’t you?” Frank stood up, but the shorter man wasn’t deterred. “You got him to put that suit back on!”

“He did that himself! I had nothing to do with it.”

“Both of you-”

“Well you didn’t talk him out of it!”

“And where were you, huh? Up in your fancy office with your rich, asshole clients, while the rest of us actually try to clean things up? You left an addict all by himself and then get surprised when he starts using again?”

“Frank!”

“He cared about you more than anything. He’s lying there, bleeding out of his chest and you know what he says? He doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t get scared for himself, no. He says ‘keep Karen and Foggy safe.’ Those were his last words. He said ‘Promise me you’ll protect Karen and Foggy.’”

Nelson’s anger had lowered to a seething, quiet rage. “That wasn’t his job. And it sure as hell isn’t yours. If I ever see you again, I swear to God I will call the police.”

Frank sniffed. “Fine by me.” Then he stomped off into the hall. He knew he should have been more careful not to draw attention to himself, but he couldn't help it.

“Frank, wait,” Karen ran after him. “He didn’t mean any of that.”

“Yeah, well I did.” He sighed heavily. “If you need anything, you can ask, alright. Anything at all.”

“Come to the funeral. He would have wanted it.”

Frank wasn’t certain that was true. “Funeral’s ain’t for the dead. And the living have made it pretty clear what they think of me.”

“Just, just think about it, okay.”

“Alright.”

These days, “home” was a loose term for Frank. He had several safe houses, each stocked with food, and enough weapons to supply a small army. He moved between them frequently, never letting anyone get a lock on him.

He was tired. That was to be expected; he hadn’t slept all night. To be more precise, his body was tired. His mind was racing. He could go back to the docks, but they’d likely be empty, or crawling with cops. He and Red had roughed up a low level runner to get the details of the shipment. Now Frank wondered if he had let himself be caught. It certainly wouldn’t be as easy to find one this time. Perfect. He needed a challenge right now.

“Alright,” Frank muttered to himself. “Let’s go to work.”