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"Morning, Matt!"
"Morning, Fog." Matt tried to smile, as to not sour his friends' good spirits. "Morning, Karen."
"Hey, Matt." He could hear the warm smile in her voice.
"Rough night?" Foggy asked. Guess it was still obvious, though Foggy could always tell anyway.
"Yeah, yeah. Nothing a good cup of coffee won't fix."
Matt retreated to his office. Still smelled new, but things were feeling normal for once. Back to normal, the three of them, how it should be. So long as the world doesn't end.
Foggy knocked twice on the doorframe, settled against it. "It's the flying donut thing, isn't it?"
That being the alien spaceship that decided to land in the middle of Greenwich Village yesterday. It flew off within the hour, but not without leaving its mark on the public consciousness. "Yeah," Matt admitted, "Couldn't sleep." He had been perched up on the roof all night, listening. Listening like he might lose it all. He hated premonitions.
"Marci and I stayed up watching the news, too. But, it's going to be alright. The Avengers are taking care of it." He sounded hopeful, but hopeful meant Foggy wasn't absolutely sure either. "You've gotta let the professionals do their job. They save the world all the time!"
Matt chuckled. "I know. Doesn't stop me from worrying, though."
Karen swooped in at the right time, steamy cups of coffee in her hands. "Got some coffee for you boys. Here ya go."
"Aw, thanks Karen," Foggy said, "You didn't have to. Y'know you're not our secretary anymore."
"I’m well aware, don’t worry! I made one for myself too. I used the good stuff today." The "good stuff" meaning "the one that Matt likes"—they had gone through a period of trying a different coffee brew every week, sniffed out which of those "organic" labels were actually telling the truth. They even made a tier list and everything. Matt knew he was being used, but it was nice to use his senses for something so terrifically mundane. "Here."
"Thank you, Karen." Matt relished his sip; he had the same brand at home now, but it always tasted better when she made it.
"Anyway," Foggy continued cheekily, "While the world outside might be crazy right now, I was just reminding Mr. Murdock here how many times he's almost gotten himself killed micromanaging the shit out of ten blocks in Manhattan-"
"Foggy, c'mon!" Having cracked as soon as Karen snorted in the middle of Foggy's sentence, Matt could not hold back his smile now. His eyes were crinkled at the corners as he said, "I get it, space aliens are way out of my league. But if they had landed right outside our window, I'm just saying..."
This caused Karen to descend into a giggling fit that was so contagious, nobody could get a word out. Matt let it happen, the hysterics, the warm fuzzy homey feeling he could only get when he was with them. The feeling had been stronger lately, too, now that he did not have to hide who he was, what he could do. Karen and Foggy both knew, and they wanted to help him. Despite everything.
As Matt was holding his busted side trying to catch his breath, he heard it. Or rather, he didn't. The low drone of heartbeats in the building became slowly but steadily quieter, and quieter, and not just in their building but in the surrounding buildings too, the whole block, maybe even the whole city. But nothing precluded this. They were just gone, like they were not even there in the first place.
Two seconds in, Matt wasn't laughing anymore. This was not his senses playing tricks on him.
Three seconds in, the remaining heart rates ramped up in collective unison. Shock, confusion. What was happening?
Four seconds in, Foggy dropped his cup of coffee. Karen gasped, "Foggy?" But he was looking at him, at Matt.
"Matt, what is-?" With a soft whoosh like a whisper of wind, Foggy became... Nothing. Like dust. Or maybe ash, scattering on the floor of their new office.
Matt couldn't speak. He stood as if he was about to do something, but no further instructions came. He couldn't do anything. Karen dropped her cup, put her hands to her mouth in horror, and when she screamed, she screamed along with millions of voices.
But it was not over yet.
Ten seconds. Karen lasted ten seconds before she was gone, too. Another pile of ash, indistinguishable from Foggy's.
Matt took a step forwards, a waking nightmare in his ears. The collective scream of New York City, cars crashing, planes and helicopters too. Hundreds of people dying because of the millions of people who ceased to exist. And the worst part was, that despite all that, it was still so, so
quiet.
Matt sank to his knees. He felt along the wooden floor, found the ashy substance that dissolved into nothingness at his touch. Took short, sharp breaths as he whispered, "Karen? F-Foggy?"
The silence of their reply was deafening. He barely registered the scent of copper trickling from his nose.
"Oh, God..."
There were so many people gathering at Clinton Church, they overflowed out onto the street.
There was no mass, no prayers. Just disorganized mourning. Most people could not formulate words, only the quiet broken sounds that escaped their throats, and the tears they shed. Others still did not even weep, merely stared, in silence.
Matt already knew. He stood across the street and he already knew, he remained there only to torture himself. Could snap his cane in two with the white-knuckled grip he had on it. His head was pounding, had been, since it happened. The silence was worse than any noise he had ever experienced, even worse than when he first became acquainted with the cacophony of human suffering that would define his life from then on.
His phone buzzed, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Marci. Marci. Marci." Ah. So Marci, soon to be Mrs. Nelson, had been spared. Matt took a moment to wonder if that was worse than the alternative, then realized he ought to pick up the phone.
"Yeah? It's Matt."
"Matt? Oh thank God, is Foggy with you? Is he okay? I've called him so many times, but maybe he just left his phone at home, you know, even though that would be a stupid thing to do and I would beat his ass for doing that to me-"
"He's gone."
"O-Oh." Her voice broke. "No, you're lying, he couldn't have... Oh, Foggy, no..."
Matt hung up. Worse, he decided. It was definitely worse.
He slipped through the crowd into the church. He had to hear someone say it, even though he already knew. Just like Marci.
"Excuse me." Matt stopped one of the nuns that was pacing about. "Hi. Uh, is Sister Maggie around?"
The nun's pulse quickened, but she tried to steady her breathing before answering. "No, I'm sorry. She was one of the ones who... One of the ones who vanished. Sorry."
Matt frowned. He did not feel any different. "Ah. Well. Thank you."
"W-Wait." She rustled around in her robe for something, then reached towards his face and dabbed at his nose with a cloth. "You're bleeding."
Now tell me something new. "Oh, I hadn't noticed. Thanks."
For lack of comfort left to give, the nun merely nodded and walked away. Matt still held the cloth in place, kept his mouth pressed in a thin line. Screwed his eyes shut, held his breath for a second, failed to smother a wretched noise. And that was that. He sniffled once, then turned around and walked out of the church. There was nothing left for him there. Nothing left for him at all.
"Hey, Red."
God, he could not describe how happy he was to hear that voice again. Relieved too, that he was right about him figuring it out. Matt grinned, though he was a bit dazed, so he might have looked like a lunatic as he did so. He didn't care. "Hey, Frank."
"Mind telling me how you found me?"
Matt scoffed; sheesh, talk about apprehensive. Though they were aways out from the city, cabin in the middle of the woods, classic. He shrugged as he replied, "I walked. Can I come in?"
Frank Castle sighed, unimpressed. "Sure. Why not."
Almost immediately, Matt tripped on the porch steps, and Frank’s rough hand caught him, held him against his chest. He listened to his heartbeat, thunderous; his slow breathing, the creak of his bones, the blood rushing through his veins. Frank hummed, the deepness of it rolling through him, or maybe Matt had already been shaking. Shivering from head to toe, such that all he could do was grip Frank's shirt tightly, to keep from sobbing or screaming or throwing up or passing out or all of the above.
Matt Murdock was at the end of his rope. All day, he had spent tallying up everyone that was gone. Jessica Jones was gone, Luke Cage was gone, Danny Rand was gone. Claire Temple was gone. His mother was gone. Karen and Foggy were, they were...
"Red, are you going to stand, or are you going to keep bleeding out onto my favorite shirt?"
Matt tried pulling himself up, but he couldn't bear removing himself from him. Stuck to him like gum to a sneaker. He heard a sound like a whimper, and it took a moment to realize it came from within.
"Okay, shit. Fine."
Matt was weightless suddenly. Frank carried him into his house while cursing under his breath. Despite the nature of the words, his gravelly tone was soothing, familiar. Because it wasn’t the Punisher’s voice, tearing down the defense they had worked so hard to build for him; it was Frank’s, the one who laid his heart out in a moonlit graveyard to the devil he called Red. Affectionately, Matt thought, though maybe that was just what he wanted to hear.
He was placed on the couch. "Sit up. Lean forward." Matt did as he was told, as Frank crouched in front of him and pinched his nose. "Breathe through your mouth, idiot."
Matt cracked a grin. "You do this often?"
Frank took his time to reply, as he always did, and was quieter when he spoke, "Yeah. My son had them. But, what the hell is up with you? It looks like all this blood is yours."
"Is it that bad? I haven't looked in a mirror lately."
"You're delirious."
"Is that what we're calling 'trying to make a joke' these days?"
"Stop talking."
Matt couldn't argue with that one. He felt himself slipping, didn’t need enhanced hearing to tell his heart was racing. He focused on his breathing, in for four seconds, out for four seconds. In for four seconds…
After a few minutes of letting him calm down, Frank removed Matt’s tinted glasses with his unoccupied hand. He swallowed, dead serious, "Jesus, Red. I didn't think your thousand-yard stare could get worse."
Matt did not have a comeback, only rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Yeah," he huffed softly. "Karen's gone."
Frank nodded. "I noticed. I tried calling her, but, I guess they don't get cell reception wherever they went off to."
That was... Surprisingly naive, coming from Frank Castle. Matt's lip trembled, and it took all the dregs of willpower he had left to not cry. Because if he started, if those gates opened, he did not think he would ever stop. He wanted to change the subject, he did, but instead he asked in a whisper, “Do you… Do you think they can come back, from wherever they went?”
“… I don’t have a clue. You and I have seen people come back from a lot of shit, been those people. But this? I don’t know. This magic stuff, I don’t deal with.” He shook his head and sighed. “How did you find me, Red?” Frank asked again, gentler this time.
By way of explanation, Matt placed his palm over Frank’s heart, feeling as much as hearing it. He stayed like this as he spoke, “The brain never forgets a face. You could see someone among a crowd of hundreds and recognize them. Mine works the same way, with this. Heartbeats. I could find Foggy in a crowded hospital by listening for his heart. But, it’s more than that now. What happened this morning, it wasn’t only people. It was everything. Think about every little heartbeat from every pet cat, and dog, and fish, and the flapping wings of birds, the buzzing of insects—all that noise, gone. It’s like I took the plugs out of my ears. Heh. Forget a crowded hospital, I heard you in a crowded city.”
“Shit, Red…”
It seemed that was all he could say, but Matt had an inquiry of his own. “What were you doing in the city today, Frank?”
“Same as you, if I had to guess. Just figuring out who’s left.”
He narrowed his eyes, doubtful he meant friends and family. “And what did you find?”
A non-committal grunt. “I’ll tell you later. And don’t push it—you’re in no state to question me right now.” To accentuate his point, Frank let go of Matt’s nose. It was not dripping anymore. He could breathe, but all he could smell and taste was ash and blood. The ash part was imaginary, he knew, his brain’s “friendly” reminder of things that had come before. “How’s that feel?”
Matt licked his lips, snuffled. Rolled his eyes around to the floor, feeling a sense of deja vu. “Could I get some aspirin?”
Frank stared at him for a time, Lord knew what he was thinking, before replying, “Yeah. Sure.”
He was tired. You ever been tired, Red? He tried not to focus on anything for too long, not Frank’s puttering about nor the low sound of the television set, and least of all the miles-long silence of the forest outside. Didn’t get much noise pollution out here, huh. Maybe that was why Frank liked it, but Matt felt he would drive himself crazy, feeling so alone. He needed his city, and the people within it. The people who were gone, now…
He paused his restless fidgeting only to catch the shirt Frank threw at his head. “Put that on. And here.” Frank put the aspirin on the coffee table, and a bottle of that cheap German beer Matt liked. “Don’t touch your nose. I don’t want you staining my sofa. We good?”
Nodding, Matt dropped his bloodstained suit and shirt on the floor, put on Frank’s which was a size too big, and swallowed his pills. “Could you turn the TV up? It’s too quiet.”
“Sure.” With a grunt, Frank sat on the other end of the sofa, and watched re-runs of Friends until Matt fell asleep.
“Your neighbor’s dog just threw up.”
Frank Castle had finally decided to leave his room, even though he had been awake for an hour, Matt knew. He doesn’t want to deal with you. “I don’t have a neighbor,” Frank said.
“‘Bad boy, Dex. Stay down, Dex.’ Dex. What a shitty name.” Matt sat up from the cocoon he had made for himself on the couch, and pointed across the room. “They’re a mile down that way. And that way,” he pointed in the direction of the road, “Is that diner I passed on the way here. The waitress just dropped a plate. She’s being chewed out by the manager, but his heart isn’t in it.”
“Red, shut up.”
“No. I could be making it up,” Matt continued, smiling, “I thought about that. I could be making you up. Everyone could be dead, and all I’m hearing are the echoes of ghosts—the sound equivalent of the imprint people leave behind when they get nuked. How would I know, if my head is just desperately making up a pattern in the white noise? How would I know, that you’re real?”
Frank sidled over, and pinched his nose again. Guess that coppery scent was fresh after all. He leaned in close, and his voice was low and gruff, his exhales warm on his forehead, “How many senses do you need to convince yourself that I am?”
With a breathy laugh, Matt replied, “All of them.”
Calloused fingers traced down his hairline, caressed the side of his face. Then, Frank abruptly let go. “You’re a wreck, Murdock. I’m not kissing you. Keep pinching your nose.”
“Murdock,” Matt echoed. He really was losing it, feeling like a giggly schoolgirl over that. His stupid loopy smile would not go away. “What happened to ‘Red’? I miss ‘Red’. Hey, Frank. Frank. Why do you call me ‘Red’, anyway?”
“It’s your hearing,” Frank said as he stalked off, completely ignoring him. “You’re listening too far because of what happened, and your brain can’t handle it. That’s why you keep bleeding.”
“Huh. You’re beginning to sound like Stick.”
“Who the fuck is Stick?” He was across the house, rummaging in one of his trunks for something.
“Never mind.” What Frank said made some sense, explained the headache at least. He knew his radar sense had limits, but he did not realize those limits were because of how much background noise living creatures made. Yesterday’s nosebleed got so bad because he was focusing too hard on Frank, who was too far away. And because Matt didn’t care if he bled out. Mostly the latter. “I guess it’s not any worse than getting shot in the head,” Matt muttered as Frank came back. He caught the little packet that was thrown at him. “What’s this?”
“Earplugs.”
“No, no, I’ll adapt-“
“Put those in until you do.” Frank crossed his arms, and Matt didn’t have enough energy to argue.
They helped, a little. On one hand, they reduced the range of his senses, but on the other, the sounds from within echoed more. The saliva in his mouth, rush in his ears, his pulse. Matt leaned his head on the back of the couch and tried not to think about it too much. “Why are you helping me, Frank?”
He sat beside him, seemed to mull it over, then shrugged. “I got a soft spot for stray dogs.”
“Wh-?” Matt opened his mouth, but was unable to come up with a retort, so he just laughed weakly. “Seriously?”
Frank did not seem proud to admit any of this, but he doubled down. “Yep, Red. Dead serious. Look, you tracked me down, you follow me around limping and bleeding, you even do that head tilt thing that drives me crazy. Shit, man, I almost felt bad hitting you before, it was like kicking a puppy.”
Matt wheezed, “Okay- Wait- What do you mean, I drive you crazy?”
“Don’t read into it. You’re annoying, always been, even before I knew you were a lawyer. And lawyers are really annoying.” He crossed his arms like a petulant child, which was never a phrase Matt thought could apply to Frank Castle, but here they were. “I saved your sorry ass once, it doesn’t mean we’re friends. It just means we’re even.”
“Yet, you let me into your safe house or whatever this is.”
“Yeah, I did. Leave it be, Red.”
Matt shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Okay, I’ll ask something else then. What did you find out yesterday, Frank?” This may tip the man over from “pleasantly annoyed” to “downright pissed off”, but Matt didn’t care. He was nothing if not insistent.
“Tch.” After debating it for a moment, Frank decided to speak plainly, “All those folks that disappeared? I’ll tell you that Fisk wasn’t one of them. And neither was his wife, Vanessa.”
Oh. Matt blinked, not quite processing the information at first. “Say that again?”
“Fisk, Red. Wilson Fisk. That bastard you keep putting away, he’s still around. And Karen ain’t.”
Not Karen, nor Foggy, but… Matt’s blood ran cold. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, you know what they say about God’s strongest soldiers…” Frank got up, stretched, wandered over to the kitchen as he mused. He returned with two beers and deadpanned, “He hates them. So now you know why I couldn’t let you bleed out on my porch, Red.”
“Is he still…?”
“For now. But you and I both know that’s not going to last.”
Matt slammed back his drink before pressing the cold bottle to his forehead like a makeshift ice pack. “Fuck.” His voice shook, and his breathing grew unsteady, thinking of the possibilities. All his worst case scenarios were coming true, every last one. “God, I- I mean…”
“It’s unfair, Red. To you, I mean. I don’t give a shit, I’ll do what it takes, but I’m not someone who’ll be good for stopping you from ‘crossing the line’ or whatever.” Frank took a swig, and Matt used the sound of his swallows to ground himself. “It’s a tough break, yeah. It’s tough.”
Abruptly, Matt put down his bottle with a loud clack! “Thanks for the beers, Frank.” He stood, took the plugs out of his ears—pocketed them, just in case. “I need to go back.”
“Yeah. No problem.” There was a hint of something in there, relief, almost. “Need a ride?”
“No. It’s better no one sees us together.”
Nodding, Frank stood too, and stuck his hand out. Matt shook it with a slight scoff. “Keep the shirt—it looks good on you.”
“You- It has that skull logo on it, doesn’t it?”
“I may need to speak to my lawyer before I answer that.”
“Fuck you.” Matt laughed. He made it a point to put on his bloody shirt over it, grabbed his glasses and his cane. He was grinning as he said, “See ya around, Frank.”
Frank Castle sent him off with a little motion resembling a salute.
“Don’t get yourself killed, Red.”
Fifty percent.
Fifty percent of all living creatures, they said. The Avengers returned, what was left of them, battered, bruised. Broken. They had failed, they said. Maybe they did. But there were still good people left in New York City, millions of them, and there were still scumbags wanting to take advantage of them, of their grief.
So he donned the red suit again. He got up on the roof, he listened, he did what he did best. He fought. He saved people.
CRACK! And yeah, maybe he let his feelings out through his fists along the way, through every broken bone and splatter on the pavement. POW! That was still the best therapy he knew.
Matt stood over a group of very unconscious gang members, biting air, rolling his shoulders. The night was young, and he was just getting started- BLAM! He kicked the asshole who dared stand up. “Stay down.” He spat blood in the man’s general direction.
Finally, the sniper who held prime viewing of the whole fight came down from his tower. He did not usually, but Matt always knew when he was around. He walked up to him, “There’s the Red I know—only half the blood you’re covered in is yours.”
“Frank.” Matt couldn’t say he was unhappy to hear him again. “You were tracking these guys too?”
“Yeah. Mind if I put a bullet in this one’s head?” Frank lightly kicked one of the fellows on the floor, the leader.
“I would mind, actually.” Matt put his hands on his hips, still panting from kicking so much ass. “Half of the population is gone, and you still want to put more of them in the ground?”
“Yup, there’s the Red I know…” Frank respected his wishes, this time. “But, if this was the other way around, you better not get in my way. That got old the first time.”
“Oh, yeah? Then I’ll just have to get to them first.”
With a cheeky grin, Matt returned the salute Frank had given him last they spoke, then unhooked his billy clubs and zipped off to another rooftop. He scarcely hid anymore on his midnight runs. People need to see me. They need to see hope. He wanted everyone to know.
The Devil’s work was never done.