Who: Frank Castle punishes & Matt Murdock daredevil What: Sparring. When: Early October. Where: Matt’s gym. Rating: PG-13. Warnings: Fighting, a bit of language. Status: Complete Upon Posting.
If someone had told Frank a month ago that he’d be willingly walking into a meeting with Matt Murdock, he’d have laughed at them. Not just a meeting, either, an open invitation to throw punches at each other without consequence. Frank had to admit - he was looking forward to it. It wasn’t that he thought anything bad about Matt. Their one real life encounter before the dream shit wasn’t terrible, and they had pretty agreeable net conversations. Hell, admittedly? Matt in the dreams wasn’t awful, either. Maybe Frank didn’t agree with how he did things, but the worst thing Daredevil had ever done to him was interrupt his plans. He was annoying, sure, but he wasn’t terrible. Frank just had a little aggression bleeding over from dreamland that he was keen on getting out of his system. And it wasn’t like people ever openly invited Frank to fight them. It could be good. It could be a disaster, but it could be good.
With a gym bag slung over his shoulder, Frank walked into the gym. Matt hadn’t specified if it would be gloves or not, but Frank had managed to dig an old pair out of his boxes. He was still hoping for bare knuckle. He wanted to see what Matt could fight like in this place.
“You here, Red?” he asked as he stepped inside. The bag was set on the ground and he shrugged out of the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing.
~*~
"Over here," Matt called, moving from behind the heavy bag he'd been hitting for a solid fifteen minutes prior to Frank arriving.
He didn't have his glasses on because there wasn't any point when he was at the gym alone. No one was there to stare or wonder how a blind man could pull off the techniques Matt had under his belt. All his training from the Dreams was intact at this stage; his senses were acute to the point of being painful from time to time. Matt wondered how much about him Frank knew courtesy of his Dreams.
More than Matt knew of him which was its own kind of frustration.
Matt navigated his way over to the ring, grasping the top rope to easily pull himself over, legs swinging clear to land neatly on his feet. The mat of the ring was something he found oddly comforting these days. In the Dreams, he'd grown up with a poor father who allowed himself to be beat down for other people's gain. Battlin Jack Murdock had let his son sit on the mat to feel the vibrations while he battled invisible opponents, telling Mattie the whole time how he was throwing a right jab with a one-two, one-two, left-cross until he could see his father moving across the ring.
It had been a place of peace for him as a boy until it became only a representation of the corruption of humanity which would never be fully suppressed within the limitations of even the best legal systems.
Now, Matt considered it an exciting way to explore possibilities which had never been available to him before.
"You can toss your gear anywhere. I use wraps instead of full gloves because it's easier for me in terms of control. I am handicapped you know. Or wait, the politically correct term is now differently abled. You find the place okay?"
~*~
Frank just snorted. Something in his head went typical, and it was strangely sort of comforting. To know that maybe this Matt didn’t run around on rooftops but he wasn’t all that different. Frank was a man of routine. Familiar was what he liked. Even if it was ten shades of weird.
“Yeah, it was easy enough.” He climbed into the ring, too, watching Matt from across it. Frank knew Matt in the dreams was blind, of course. He hadn’t known it at first, but once he realized his goody-two-shoes lawyer was the asshole who kicked him in the face and backflipped across Hell’s Kitchen, well. That was something else entirely. He had no idea what went on to make Matt be the Daredevil, but it fascinated him. Maybe he’d be able to put some pieces together.
“Uh huh. I know you can throw a mean punch in at least one world. Wouldn’t be surprised if you can do it here, too. With or without gloves.” Frank rolled his shoulders, stepping in to close the space between them. Not like they could do anything with a whole ring between them. “Not gonna lie to you, never been this excited to hit a differently abled guy before.”
If it sounded like there was a smile on Frank’s face, that’s because there was one.
~*~
Pride reared its sinful head up as Matt realized he'd made Frank smile. The taciturn fellow probably needed to smile more. His voice was worn in a way Matt understood from his Dreams. Pain was another thing they had in common though Matt wasn't going to ask about the pain Frank Castle was experiencing or had experienced. He'd said he spilled all his secrets to him at some point.
A sob story.
Matt didn't take any pleasure in the pain of others. He hated his own sob story. There was no desire in him to seek out the pain of someone else. Who was he to pry into the life of this man? They were from the same other world when they went to sleep. In this world? They couldn't be more different which was why Matt was grateful Frank had agreed to meet him here, in an arena where they could be equals.
More or less.
"I'm glad I'm able to offer you a thrill. I have a feeling you don't get to smile nearly as much as a man should. Ready when you are, Frank," Matt smiled as his eyes focused on nothing at all, "I'm letting you throw the first punch. It's a courtesy since you are on my turf."
~*~
“Don’t get too used to it.” Frank just wasn’t a smiley sort of guy. He sure as hell wasn’t gonna start just because Matt amused him.
He did roll his eyes, though. Not that Matt could tell. Frank watched him, sizing him up and planning his move. He had a feeling Matt would know, that his punch wouldn’t land the way he’d want it to anyway, but a first hit was a first hit. And Frank was gunning for Matt’s jaw, where he’d seen one too many smug looks.
~*~
Dreams were different from reality. Matt was still working out the exact way to read the cues he got from his environment courtesy of the heightened other senses he still had intact. The air moved, stirred the fine hairs along the side of his arm, the nape of his neck, and he dodged to the opposite side enough to get only a glancing blow instead of the full force of Frank's fist. It was enough to have him jab back in retaliation with his left.
'Jab: left-left and a roundhouse with a right. Best combination there is, Mattie.'
He connected without the full force behind any of his hits, pulling back because he wasn't sure how far he wanted to push this man. Matt didn't land the combo the way his father had taught him. It was nice to know he'd managed to get a glancing pass at it for a first try against a new opponent. That was something to be proud of considering he didn't exactly have a line-up of sparring partners waiting in the wings.
"Hey, I like the idea of you getting used to smiling around me. I need more friends. You sound like you need a few yourself. It's a win-win situation from what I can see."
~*~
“Considering you can’t see anything, that’s not a very good pep talk.”
Frank’s mouth quirked up again, an amused smirk more than anything else. He felt like he should resent himself for enjoying the banter, but it was good. He was sick of dwelling on all the less than happy thoughts that came with the dreams. Punching and snarking was a good catharsis.
He wasn’t quite as precise as Matt was. At least, he wasn’t as worried about how to hit well and what combos to aim for. Frank had never bothered to learn that, never had anyone to introduce it to him. He learned how to throw punches in alleys and bars, and, sure, more than once in the Marines he might have given a guy or two shit. Frank knew where to hit people to make them hurt, where to hit them to take them down, where to hit them to make them bleed. What more did he need? And he wasn’t holding back on it, either.
“Come on, hit me like you mean it.”
~*~
"I can see better than you think."
Matt sensed Frank moving, lowered his fists -'Never lower your fists in a match. That's just asking to get yourself killed, Mattie.'- and dodged neatly away from every punch thrown at him as if he could see them with his useless eyes. It was easier to dodge than to attack. Apparently he was going to be great at defense, but his offense needed quite a bit of work. Frank seemed to have no problem being the one who let him learn how to hold his own.
Come to that, Matt wasn't sure Frank even knew what it was like to spar without every hit coming from someone who meant it.
Thinking out loud, Matt said, "You aren't used to just sparring, are you? You really fight. Every time. It's all about the impact. You 'mean it' every time. I can't decide if that should impress me or make me feel bad for you. I've never been much of a real people person, but you're a whole other level of alone."
No one could ever accuse Matt of being an idiot even if they could say he was reckless. He put his fists up as the last word left his lips, the feeling of speech still making them hum while he defended his face and head. It wouldn't do to give the guy a black eye, but Matt didn't want to offend Frank any more than he already had so he hit him in the chest with a full-force punch. It would likely push him back enough to give Matt room to move again. That would be something.
~*~
“Shit, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Frank scoffed a bit. He supposed Matt’s words came from somewhere with the moderate intention of not being cruel, but Frank had a habit of taking things personally. The words hit him more than he’d care to admit. Here he’d never had a problem with being considered a loner. He had friends, sure, carefully chosen, but in the wake of dreaming of losing his family - twice - the loneliness stung. It was enough to put him off guard and let Matt land the punch.
Just like Frank remembered it. Or whatever the word for it would be, because those dreams sure as hell felt more like memories. But he always gave the Devil as good as he got, and after a bit of a stumble, Frank jabbed Matt in the chest.
“Do you tell all your new friends how sad and lonely they are?"
~*~
Getting hit in the chest hurt. It didn't hurt as much as being slugged in the face, but Matt didn't want to try it again. He was able to get around Frank so he had more room to move. There was something nice about knowing he could actually hit this guy and it wouldn't be anything other than what it was: sparring. Frank could take it. He was letting Matt know pretty damn clearly he could take anything Matt could dish out.
"I don't know. I haven't made a lot of friends, new or otherwise."
Matt wanted to test a theory so he went low, swinging his leg out in a sweep meant to knock Frank down onto his back. Wrestling was easier than boxing when a guy was blind. Matt had been able to wrestle even before his senses started to come in full force. There was a chance he'd miss which would put him at a disadvantage -being low on a higher target who hit as hard as Frank Castle hit- but it was worth the risk to feel the ease with which his body responded.
"I'm a blind guy who was adopted by older parents devoted to their careers, both deceased, both who taught me to devote myself to my career. Lots of acquaintances, very few friends."
~*~
Frank saw it coming. The familiarity of fighting Matt was seeping through, and he actually smiled at that. He even laughed a little. What was worse is in that split second where he could dodge or counter, Frank decided to give it to Matt. He probably didn’t have to let Matt get a hit in. Matt was better than that. Frank went down anyway, rolling to the side to avoid a follow up and get back on his feet quicker.
“Somehow, Red, I’m not that surprised. You should get out more.” Says Frank Castle.
~*~
"You know, the more you talk to me? The easier I can find you."
Matt said it conversationally as he lunged forward, his body responding quick, easy, too easy really for a guy who had only been modestly active prior to starting to have Dreams of another life. He wasn't sure if he could get his hand around Frank's leg, but he knew he'd get close. They were close on the bottom of the ring. It wasn't about hitting Frank or wrestling with Frank or hurting Frank.
For the first time, Matt really wanted to just feel alive with someone else which was something he could do with Frank Castle in a way he hadn't been able to manage with anyone else.
"I've been running a lot lately. It's nice to be able to really run, too. I couldn't before. Too worried about being that blind guy who fell down in public for going too fast on unfamiliar territory. Now? I'm not afraid to run anywhere I want. I'm not afraid. What about you, Frank? Do you get out enough? Or are you afraid of going outside your own danger zone?"
~*~
“Like you need me to talk to find me.”
Frank got out of the way, getting enough footing that he could try and get Matt back with a tackle. Matt wanted to move around, that’s fine, Frank could make him move. Keep the devil on his toes. The question just made him grunt a bit.
“Never been afraid of anything in my life.” Not until he dreamt, anyways. Losing a family he’d never had, losing them twice, that made him afraid. He had no one here to worry about losing, though, so instead that fear manifested itself in possibility. What if Frank got out more? Would he see the world as black-and-white as The Punisher saw it? It would be easy to step over that line. “Not about to start.”
~*~
Frank had a point: Matt didn't need him to talk to find him. All the guy had to do was keep on breathing. He could track him by the sound of his lungs filling, deflating, his heart pumping the blood through his body---
Huffing at the impact, Matt rolled with Frank's weight on him. It was a lot different than getting hit with the full weight of anyone else. No man had ever tried to assault him. There were no fights in his past in this life. All Matt had to base his fighting expertise on were Dreams. What about Frank? What kind of life had he lived in this one? In the other? There was something damaged about him, but Matt didn't have enough information to really swear to anything where he was concerned.
"Okay. I know I'm sexy, but you don't have to throw yourself at me. At least not on the first date. It's a little desperate---although flattering."
Matt managed to get on top of Frank, trying to get his arms pulled behind him, twisting them up in an attempt to immobilize him. The move was classic wrestling. Frank could get out of it if he'd ever had a lesson, but that was mostly the point. Matt didn't want to hurt him. All he wanted was to test the waters. They were sharks at sea, weren't they? Baiting the water with chum to see who'd show up to fight for the real meal.
~*~
Frank wouldn't really hurt Matt. He'd make sure the guy felt it, sure, but he wasn't out for blood. Not today. He snorted, though, trying to shake Matt off him.
"For a guy who's been blind his whole life, you seem pretty sure about that, Altar Boy. Anyway - who's desperate now?" Telling a guy off for a good body slam then climbing on top of him really defeated the purpose of the jab.
He found his footing and stood, rubbing his fist under his nose. "What's it like, anyway? Getting all that shit from your dreams. What is it that makes a blind guy do what Daredevil does?"
~*~
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Matt remained kneeling on the floor of the ring, cocking his head to the side as he considered Frank's words before answering, "I know I'm physically attractive enough because my features are proportionate, I work out regularly, and more than one girlfriend has told me. Growing up? I asked my mother if she picked me because of how I looked. People commented on how much like my parents I looked, you know? It's a weird thing to hear when you're adopted. It made me wonder. I know what I look like. In general."
He tried to imagine what Frank looked like and failed to get more than the shape of his body. Matt could hear everything happening in the other man's body. His senses were so acute they caused him pain. It wasn't painful to imagine someone or to listen to on source of sound. What was painful? Having the whole world fall in around him at the same time, bombarding him from every direction, exploding in his head until Matt couldn't help except feel he was in the middle of a war zone instead of Orange County, California.
"In a way? I hate the Dreams. I could see in them. Until I was in an accident. My sight was taken in an accident. I've never---seen anything in this life. Now? I know what I'm missing. I know colors. It's hard to explain how that feels. I do things to make sure justice is done to those who manage to work the law to their advantage. I'm a guy trying to do the right thing by people who were wronged. Here? I'm nothing like that. I still don't know how I feel about that. What about you? Want to share since it's sharing time?"
~*~
Frank shrugged. All things considered, his dream story was just a bit of a variant on his real life. And there was no sense in hiding it, because he knew Matt would learn about it anyway, and he knew one day Matt would dream of saving his ass from the Irish and having Frank dump his life story on his shoulders. Might as well get it out of the way.
“Came home from the war. Took my family to Central Park, thought it’d be a good way to start life off together again. Got caught in the middle of some drug bust gone bad, little girl died in my arms before someone put a bullet in my head to try and get rid of witnesses. So now I’m after the bastard who did it. Doesn’t get much more simple than that.”
It wasn’t really simple. Every time Frank thought of the family he never knew, how in one set of dreams he was going to walk away from them and in another he never wanted to be apart from them, it made his chest hurt in an unfamiliar way. He wondered if Matt could hear that in his voice.
“I suppose I don’t think there’s a whole lot different between me and my dreams. Just different circumstances, but I’m that guy. I’m not gonna bullshit myself into thinking otherwise.”
~*~
"At least you have that."
Matt swiped his hand over his brow as he got to his feet. Fighting was easier than talking. There was pain in Frank's voice which hurt Matt as badly as the punch to his chest. He could handle a lot of things---hearing a father speak of holding his dying child was not one of those things. Violence against children was reprehensible to Matt. He couldn't think about that precious young life being snuffed out because of some drug bust gone bad.
Narcotics had never been something he'd been interested in from any standpoint.
Raising his fists, Matt forced a grin, "I think maybe we both need sharing time to be over. Let's fight some more and then maybe, if we're both still conscious and not bleeding too badly, you'll have a drink with me after. Drinks on me, of course, since I'm positive I make better money than you in this life---probably not in the other."