Frank Castle was not made by God. (punishes) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-01-30 21:20:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, frank castle (the punisher), matt murdock (daredevil) |
Who: Frank Castle punishes & Matt Murdock daredevil
What: Matt is drunk. Frank figures someone needs to Devil-sit.
When: Backdated to Halloween, after these texts.
Where: Matt’s home.
Rating: Teen.
Warnings: Drunkenness and moderate language.
Status: Complete Upon Posting.
Frank had no idea what he was doing. It wasn’t as if he and Matt were very good friends, not in real life and certainly not in the dreams. Though Frank would be lying if he didn’t have a vague appreciation that maybe resembled liking Matt, and, well, Matt had said it before hadn’t he? Neither of them had many friends. It wasn’t that odd they’d gravitate to one another, and, in the end, Matt would be the only one around Orange County that understood what Frank was dreaming. So Frank would put up with him.
And Matt wasn’t kidding about his neighbourhood. Frank actually snorted as he parked his car. He wouldn’t be surprised if a neighbour called neighbourhood watch or something on him - in his worn jacket, with his beaten up face and his pitbull, he stood out like a sore thumb. They’d probably think he was some hoodlum as he buzzed himself into Matt’s gate, then let himself in, keeping the dog at bay even though Chuck wanted to run around and explore.
“Knock knock, Red. You better not be passed out somewhere.”
~*~
Once his senses had started to improve at an accelerated rate, Matt had realized he couldn't live in a high-rise any longer. He'd given up on it after the first full week without more than two hours of sleep. The home had been his parents' regular place, but it hadn't been the place Matt had grown up in. That home was gone. It'd been sold after his parents were both gone. Some would have considered it to be distasteful to sell their childhood home after the passing of both parents.
Matt had called it self-preservation.
"You don't have to shout. I can hear your heartbeat from---"
Matt put a hand on the hallway wall to steady himself as he oriented to the feeling of inebriation he couldn't shake, "I don't know the distance really. I haven't tested it. There's an idea. Want to play a game, Frank? Ever play Hide-and-Seek growing up? I didn't. Blind kids don't play a lot of games. I'm currently drinking because I can't seem to stop. Do you want some of this scotch? Or I do have a full bar somewhere behind me. I can find it in a minute. Oh. Turn some lights on if you want. I never use them. Saves on my electric bill."
It was a bad joke. Matt figured he was allowed one bad joke considering his whole life felt as if it were a bad joke before he started Dreaming.
"You brought Chuck!"
The exclamation came as suddenly as Matt realized the dog was there.
"What kind of dog is he?"
~*~
“You gotta slow down, Murdock.” Not just the drinking, but the rambling, too. Frank snorted as he flicked a light on, focusing in on the other man. No, they’re sure as hell not gonna play hide and seek, and Frank is just waiting for Matt to teeter over or something, ready to move in to catch him.
“Yeah, I brought him. He’s a pit bull, got him from those dreams. He belonged to some assholes in the Irish gang. You can say I liberated him.”
Chuck seemed pretty excited to meet new friends. He moved over to snuffle at Matt, nosing into his hand by way of saying hello.
~*~
Animals didn't have the same effect on Matt as people when they touched him without warning. People grabbed at him because they thought since he was blind, he needed to be led around by the hand or the arm or the shoulder or whatever part of him they could get their hands on. It bothered him when it was a person. He was disabled, not an invalid or a child or a, a, a pet or whatever people thought.
Petting the dog's head gently as it nudged his hand, Matt smiled while staring vacantly ahead, "He's not as soft as the dogs they used to bring for us when they would try to get us used to the idea of a guide dog. Pit bulls are tough dogs. A tough dog for a tough guy. I get it. Fitting. Sorry for the---whatever this is I'm going through. I don't usually talk this much unless I'm in court or---"
Matt trailed off as he realized what was going on with the hyperverbalism at the very least.
"Or when I'm drunk."
He laughed, "So, what can I get you? Or Chuck? I feel I owe you something for coming over when I'm liable to do something stupid otherwise."
~*~
“Oh, yeah? You actually show up at your trials in this life?” Matt hadn’t dreamt about that yet, Frank knew, but it was obvious by the tone in his voice that he was amused. While Matt was preoccupied with the dog, Frank took it upon himself to look around. It wasn’t like Matt was going to give him a tour. It was a nice place. Nicer place than Frank had ever been, that was for damn sure.
“Don’t worry about it, Red. It’s what friends do, right? Help each other out.” Frank found his own way to the kitchen. Sorry, Matt, but Frank was good at playing guest. Eventually he found a bowl that looked like it could be sacrificed for a dog and filled it with water, and when Chuck heard it on the floor, he came snuffling over for it.
“So, what, you got it in your head now that you gotta live up to all things Devil? Or did you have a bad dream about beating some guys up and now all that Catholic guilt is really weighing you down.” Frank didn’t have that problem. Well. He got over it pretty quick. He helped himself to a glass of water while he was at it. “My first set of dreams were pretty rough. Shit, by the end of it I had my fingers cut off. Guess I got desensitized pretty quick. These dreams, the ones with you, pretty tame by comparison. You get used to it.”
~*~
"I do," Matt agreed, "I don't get a lot of them. Not a lot of trial work in international mergers and acquisitions so when there is? They gotta have the real deal there and they say that's me. I don't know even know what that means."
He laughed again, patting Chuck's rough head once more before staggering in the direction of the hall off the main foyer. Matt wasn't as well-oriented as usual, but he knew this house. He knew where he was even if he wasn't entirely certain how great his equilibrium was holding up under the effects of the scotch he had in his right hand. The bottle was much lighter than it had been at the start of his night.
Matt figured that was either a great sign he was on the proper path to total annihilation of brain cells or a really bad sign he was going to wind up with a hangover he'd regret the following morning. It didn't seem to matter so much as he took a drink directly from the bottle. The burn was nice. Comforting. His father had been a scotch man. His adoptive father had been, Matt corrected in his head; Battlin Jack Murdock wasn't someone he knew so well even from his memories if they were memories.
"This is the way to the entertainment parlor. I have two parlors. That's important or something. I have no idea why even when I'm sober as a---"
He stopped to laugh a while as he staggered into the edge of the bar, grabbing at the counter with his free hand while the scotch bottle rapped sharply into the marble countertop. He couldn't help the laughter. It was almost maniacal or on the verge of total hysteria. Matt knew way too many judges who were chronic alcoholics yet he'd been about to use that metaphor? What the Hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he get himself under control? He was always under control.
That made him laugh harder as he fumbled the bottle onto the bar so he could grasp the top with both hands while his body was wracked with laughter.
~*~
It was a good thing that Matt couldn’t see Frank roll his eyes. He downed his water and set the glass down, moving through the house - turning on lights as he went - until he found Matt. Frank reached over to move the bottle to a safer spot, then he took Matt’s arm. He definitely never imagined that this would be a situation he’d find himself in.
“Alright, Chuckles. We need to sit down for a second and let you calm down.” Frank led Matt over to the nearest chair, setting his hands on Matt’s shoulders to make him sit down. “Stay,” he ordered, as if the other man would listen. Because Matt Murdock was real good at listening to Frank Castle. “I’m getting you some water.”
~*~
"I was just thinking I hate it when people treat me like I'm just some invalid who needs to be moved around since I obviously can't do it myself, except I really don't know what's wrong with me. I just started drinking and I was drunk! I am drunk!"
Matt didn't mind Frank moving him around while he did all he could to bring himself under control. There were too many reasons to thank the man for being there to argue over whether or not he needed help finding a chair to sit in. He wiped his eyes as he did chuckle some more at the thought he was just like Chuck: getting ordered around by Frank Castle since the guy was doing his best to liberate him.
"Don't---" Matt took a deep breath and tried again, "Don't fill the glass too full. I don't have shaky hands except when I'm drunk and laughing hysterically and the last thing I need is to fall on my ass because I spilled water on my tile floor. Why are you being so nice to me? I don't get the feeling you like me very much."
~*~
“Stop acting like a kid at his first kegger and I’ll treat you like a grown up.” If Matt is listening, he might even hear a sort of smile in Frank’s voice. Maybe.
Frank was gone for a moment, to get the water. He’s sure to fill it only halfway, as per request, and once he presses it into Matt’s hands, Frank leans against the bar. He’s silent while he regards Matt for a moment. Maybe it was too bad they didn’t get to know each other a bit better in the dreams. They probably would never have the perfect friendship, but it was something they both probably would benefit from.
“So. You can’t stop thinking about me, huh? That’s what your text said.”
~*~
Water settled on Matt's stomach the way a storm settled on the sea. He fought back the urge to retch. It was mostly pride which kept him from being sick on the floor of his house right in front of the man. There were too many reasons why he couldn't stop thinking about Frank Castle to drop them down to one. Matt wasn't ashamed to admit his preoccupation with his Dreams was something he couldn't help.
"I Dream. I don't like that. I do like knowing some day? I'll Dream about you more, know you better, see myself as a better man. You act like you don't care. I know better. Good enough or do you want me to get really sweet over you?"
He was too drunk for a deep conversation.
Matt doubted there was ever going to be a time when he was sober enough to have a deep conversation with Frank Castle.
~*~
That just made Frank snort.
“Not sure there’s anything you can dream about me that you don’t already know.” Which wasn’t exactly true. The story, Matt knew that already. But one day Matt would dream about the killing sprees and the hospital and Frank blowing the trial along with Matt’s career. Honestly, Frank was expecting Matt to not want anything to do with him after it. Might as well enjoy the weird friendship while it lasted, right?
He gave Matt a heavy pat on the shoulder and took the glass back, going to fill it with more water. Frank figured he’d find some food, or at least order something in, because he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.