Archive of Our Own

Foggy crashed into Matt’s apartment, determined and frazzled.  

“What happened to him?” Foggy demanded.  

“Calm down, Nelson,” Castle grunted. He glanced up from his work, briefly, then turned his attention back to the stove.  

Foggy spun around to face him. “Where is he?”  

“He’s fine.”  

“Fine? Fine?! It sounded like an emergency—!”  

“Not the kind your frantic energy can fix. If anything, you’ll just make it worse,” Castle scoffed. That’s all he was, sometimes. Scoffs, grunts, and sarcasm.  

“Make it—!” Foggy cut himself off and took a deep breath. He nudged the apartment door closed behind him, then glanced back at Castle. “What are you doing?”  

“Mac n’ cheese,” Castle said.  

“What?”  

“Mac n’ cheese.”  

“No, I. I heard you. I just. What? Why?”  

“He’s hungry,” Castle glanced over his shoulder, scowling as if challenging Foggy to make fun of him. Not that Foggy could figure out what he would be making fun of him for.  

“And you’re. Making mac and cheese,” Foggy surmised. He nodded slowly. The stopped and shook his head. “No, wait. That doesn’t make sense. Since when does Matt eat mac and cheese, Castle?”  

“Since he was about three.”  

“What?”  

Foggy gaped for a bit, and was about to gather his words. But then. Then the tiny redhead wobbled his way on unsteady feet around the island counter. He looked up at Foggy. Then stuck his tiny, fat thumb in his mouth.  

“Castle.”  

“Oh, god,” Castle muttered.  

“Castle!” Foggy pointed urgently at the small child. “Castle, there’s a baby here!”  

“He’s clearly a toddler.”  

“Why is there a baby in Matt’s apartment? Is it his kid?! Oh, god, I thought Matt was pretty good about being safe—!”  

“Seriously?” Castle shook his head, then moved with his pot of pasta, over to the sink and colander. “Red always says you’re so smart, Nelson. You’re not proving him right.”  

The toddler whipped his head around to look at Castle for a long moment. Then he returned his big, blue eyes to Foggy. He continued to suck thoughtfully on his pudgy, little-kid thumb.  

Foggy looked down at the kid.  

The kid met his gaze steadily.  

Something must have clicked. “Oh my god,” Foggy said.  

“The penny drops,” Castle returned to newly strained pasta to the pot and set it on the still-hot burner. Off, but still hot. Butter, milk, and shredded cheese went into the pot. Not a premixed mac n’ cheese, then.  

“Is this him? Is this Matt? He’s so…! Why’s he tiny, Castle?” Foggy whipped his gaze between Castle and the baby version of Matt.  

“Ff… heck if I know,” Castle said. He glanced over at the toddler and gave a sharp whistle. “Hey, kiddo. It’s done. You ready to eat?”  

Matt turned to him, then started bouncing quietly, clearly enthused. But enthused in the quietest way that Foggy had ever seen on a small child. Matt pointed, with the hand not occupied in his mouth, to one of the cupboards. “Bo’,” he said. He had a solemn little look on his face, all business. “Wed bo’,” he said around his thumb.  

“Red bowl,” Castle echoed.  

Matt turned to grin at Foggy as Castle fetched his bowl for him, from the indicated cupboard. “Fwoggy want macnchee?”  

“Uh. Oh. No thanks, pal,” Foggy said slowly.  

A baby Matt shouldn’t have known who Foggy was, though. They’d met in college, after all. But… Matt had already done all his growing up, once. Why should he have to give up all that growing up and all those memories he’d made, even if he were suddenly a baby again? It’s not like there was a rulebook for… suddenly de-aged best friends! Probably…! Unless the Avengers had one.  

Could Foggy call the Avengers…?  

No. No, that was—no.  

“Fank does good macnchee,” Matt wheedled. Ever the lawyer.  

“How the hell would you know, half-pint?” Castle asked. He had the red bowl and a fork in hand.  

Foggy only just noticed that the macaroni and cheese wasn’t macaroni, at all. Castle had made spaghetti and cheese for the pint-sized lawyer. Which was actually very charming, come to think of it. And probably something a small child would appreciate in that awestruck, star-eyed, thrilled way that only children had. Foggy raised his eyebrows.  

“Don’t say anything,” Castle grunted.  

“I won’t!” Foggy raised his hands in quick surrender. “Wasn’t even thinking about it.”  

“Fwoggy want macnchee now?” Matt asked.  

Foggy couldn’t help the smile as he glanced back down at baby Matt. “Maybe later, pal.”  

“Kee,” Matt turned and waddled over to his dining room table. “Fank does good macnchee,” he muttered to himself.  

Foggy watched him clamber up into his seat, with a helpful nudge from Castle, then he shook himself. “Seriously, what happened?” Foggy asked.  

“Some kinda witch got ‘im. Beats me,” Frank shrugged, then leaned in to affix a makeshift bib to Matt’s tiny neck.  

All of tiny Matt’s clothes were makeshift. Of course they were. Castle wouldn’t have been a leg to foresee Matt turning into a small child! Matt wouldn’t, either, but Castle even less so. Castle didn’t really deal with mystical criminal elements so much, after all, where Matt… well. Matt did. Not baby Matt. Big Matt.  

(Foggy decided, abruptly, that he hated magic.)  

Little Matt was dressed in a big shirt, worn like a dress, and socks that were way too big, worn something like stockings more than actual socks, on his fat little-kid legs. He looked happy and comfortable, at least, but Foggy kind of wondered if that age needed a diaper still. And if he did, what would Castle have used for a diaper?  

“Is he potty trained?” Foggy asked.  

“Yeah?” Castle have him a puzzled, judgmental look. “Kid’s three, Nelson. And smart as a whip, besides.”  

“Gots to tell Fank when gots to go potty,” Matt said solemnly.  

“Toilet’s too tall for him,” Castle agreed.  

Matt nodded, then picked up the fork, haphazardly, and stabbed at the bowl of cheesy spaghetti. He did this a few more times, then offered the fork to Castle. “Fank! Fank, hewp!”  

Castle scoffed, but couldn’t quite hide his fondness. He took the offered fork, placed it in the spaghetti, and neatly twirled a small forkful of noodles onto the tines. He offered the fork back. “Want me t’ cut the pasta, kid?”  

“Nope!” Matt shoved the forkful of pasta into his mouth and wiggled happily in his seat. Well, wiggled happily on his knees, since he couldn’t quite sit down on the seat and reach the tabletop. “Num!” he complimented. (Castle only rolled his eyes.)  

Well, he tried to shove the forkful of pasta into his mouth, anyway. He actually smeared it across half his face, first, leaving behind a cheesy residue. Clearly, his motor skills were about on par with a toddler’s. Endearingly so. Then he offered the newly emptied fork back to Castle, who twirled more of the pasta onto the tines before offering the fork back. Foggy felt his heart practically grow in size, about proportional to the amount of cheese sauce accumulating on Baby Matty’s face.  

“S’good,” Matt wiggled in place, again.  

“Yeah. Sure. Keep eating, kid, I’m not just gonna stand n’ wait on you all day. Got shit to do.”  

And, yeah, that seemed like a pretty “Castle” thing to say. But, honestly? Foggy could tell that was bullcrap. Castle seemed more or less wrapped around the toddler’s chubby little fingers, and more than willing to stand around and wait on the kid, hand and foot, whatever he might say to the contrary.  

“So, what’s the plan?” Foggy asked. His voice cracked awkwardly at the end, so he cleared his throat. “Do you, uh. Do you have a plan?”  

Castle glared over at Foggy, but Foggy didn’t take offense. He was pretty sure Castle’s face was stuck that way, anyway. Or, like, that Castle didn’t know other expressions.  

Then again, Foggy hadn’t really gotten to see Castle in anything less than probably the worst times of his life. Including that god-awful circus of a court case. Maybe there was a version of Castle that knew how to smile. And… maybe that was a past Castle that Foggy wouldn’t get a chance to know. (Man, that was a bit dark…)  

“ Do you have a plan?” Foggy repeated.  

“No, Nelson. I don’t have a plan. I’ve been too busy playing fff… playing fricking babysitter for Red. Haven’t had time to breathe, much less think. You know how hard it is to keep up with a toddler? They don’t run out of energy. ‘Cept suddenly, ‘round naptime, but hell if any toddler ever wants to nap. You think Red’s a handful, normally? You should try the toddler for size. That’s the real devil.” Castle motioned at the beaming redhead, practically drenched in cheese sauce.  

Foggy blinked back at him for a long moment, trying to process all that.  

Maybe he should try calling the Avengers, after all? Surely they would have some kind of idea about what to do. Right? They had that wizard guy…!  

Ah, man. But Matt’s secret identity…  

Foggy mentally dismissed the Avengers idea for a second time in as many minutes.  

“What about you, Nelson?” Castle demanded.  

“Me?”  

“Yeah. You. You got any bright ideas? Because I’m not going to just keep playing babysitter, indefinitely, and I’m not sure you’re up to that task, at all, Council.”  

“Ah. Right. Um, no… but I’m working on it! But speaking of ideas. On a scale of one to ten, how opposed would you be to, I dunno,” Foggy made a bit of a show of thinking, as if casting around for options. “Avengers involvement?”  

Castle glanced at him sharply. Like, “if looks could kill” sharply.  

“Yeah, no, same,” Foggy laughed nervously. “Avengers? Who needs ‘em, right? Not us. Obviously. You and me? We’ve got the situation under control. Totally.”  

Castle rolled his eyes, but the if-looks-could-kill look was gone, so Foggy decided that it was a win.  

“Oops,” Baby Matt said softly.  

Castle’s attention shifted back to the tyke, immediately. “What’s up, kiddo?”  

Matt peered at the ground beside his chair. “My fork…” the tone of frustrated defeat and betrayal was adorable, but also had Foggy moving toward Matt’s kitchen to find him a replacement.  

“That’s why you don’t play at the table.”  

Foggy didn’t even have to look to know that Castle had crossed his arms. I mean, he looked anyway. But he could hear it in Castle’s voice, even before he’d looked up  from the utensil drawer. And when had he gotten so used to Castle that that was even a thing?  

Matt blew a raspberry at Castle.  

“Hey, kid. You’re at the table. Have some manners, Murdock,” Castle scoffed.  

It always threw Foggy for a bit of a loop when Castle called Matt by any part of his name. This time was no different, but Foggy was able to cover up his startle, on the way back over to Matt’s dining room table, through clever and calculated use of natural clumsiness. By which I mean that he just happened to step on his shoelace at about the same time and was lucky not to faceplant.  

“Don’ wanna!” Matt said, full of unearned glee.  

"Whoa, now. What’s this? You think you’re in charge or something, there? Because, from where I’m standing, you don’t even look like you’re in booster seats, yet.”  

Foggy sidled over and offered the clean fork to Baby Matt.  

Matt gasped in pure pleasure, accepted the fork, then brandished it aabove his head. “Fwoggy! Saint among mens!” the toddler crowed. “Tank you, Fwoggy.” He turned to beam toothily at Foggy.  

And Foggy just about melted on the spot.  

“Oh, I see how it is,” Castle scoffed. But like, a play scoff. “Franklin gets the manners, hm? What am I, kid? Chop liver?”  

Matt laughed himself silly, laying his head down on the table. He almost landed himself in his cheesy pasta, but he had a guardian angel watching over him. Or rather, Castle was able to move the red bowl out of the toddler’s way, just in time.  

“Fanklin,” Matt giggled.  

“Wait, hey!” Foggy laughed, too. “Is he laughing at me? Is the little traitor laughing at my name? Oh, that’s low, Baby Matt.”  

Matt’s giggles bubbled back into outright laughter. “Baby,” he echoed.  

Foggy glanced up and.  

Wow, okay.  

Apparently Castle’s face was not, in fact, stuck in a scowl. Either that or the man had just spontaneously learned the meaning of Christmas and grew his heart three sizes, or whatever. Because he was smiling, all soft and sweet like, at the tiny redhead laughing himself silly beside his bowl of cheesy spaghetti noodles.  

Castle also couldn’t quite smother the smile once he caught Foggy staring. So, he tried something else: deflection. He cleared his throat. “You ever hear Red sounding that happy, Nelson?" he asked.  

Foggy’s own smile sobered a bit. “Uh, not recently,” he admitted.  

“Yeah, me either,” Castle shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Bit of a shame, really. Red deserves a bit of that,” he nodded at the giggling mess of toddler, “in his day-to-day.”  

“Yeah,” Foggy shrugged.  

“Yeah,” Castle echoed. He huffed and shoved his hands into his slouchy jeans pockets. Foggy felt confident in his assessment that those were Castle’s lazy day jeans, his comfort clothes. “So, Nelson. You ready to take over the babysitting role? I’ve got things to do, you know.”  

“Uh,” Foggy froze. “What?”  

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’? You think I called you here to play show and tell?”  

Baby Matt’s giggles petered out. Foggy risked a look over at the toddler. And—shit. His smile was fading fast. Foggy turned back to Castle, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Oh, I. Uh. I don’t really do? You know. Kids? I don’t—I don’t know how to deal with kids. Uh. Maybe Karen…?”  

Castle gave a long, beleaguered sigh. “Don’t do kids? This isn’t just some snot-coated gremlin, Nelson. It’s Red.”  

“Yea, I know. But…!”  

“Fank,” Baby Matt cut in.  

Foggy and Castle turned to look at him.  

Baby Matt hunched in on himself. He was already so small, but he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, compacting himself into a small, sad, little toddler-shaped ball. “Fank?” he repeated. “Fank, are you goin’ away?” Tears started to sparkle in his big, baby eyes.  

“Ah, shit,” Castle muttered.  

“Fank,” Baby Matt’s lip quivered. “Fank, don’ weave. Pease?”  

“Aw, man, Castle,” Foggy grimaced. “You’re not gonna go and knowingly break Baby Matt’s heart, are you?”  

“Shut up, Nelson,” Frank grumbled. “I know you just want to be off the hook for the babysitting gig.” He tossed Foggy a hard side-eye. “But answer me this, Nelson. If I’m babysitting the kid, who’s tracking down the blue-faced little shit that made him into a kid?”  

“I thought you said you didn’t know what happened!” Foggy squeaked.  

“I don’t know what happened, but I know who fuckin’ did it,” Castle muttered.  

“Fank,” Matty whined.  

“Sorry, half-pint,” Frank muttered.  

Matt slipped off the chair and papped his way around the table and over to Castle. The kid looked half a degree from toppling over, the whole time. “Bad words,” Matt mumbled. His personal mission, however, seemed to be along the lines of attaching himself to Castle’s leg, rather than telling him off for bad language.  

Castle sighed down at him.  

“So? Who did it?” Foggy asked.  

Castle glared up at him. Foggy managed not to flinch back under the force of Castle’s glare. Barely. Castle curled his lip in derision, anyway, as if he’d seen the impulse to flinch. “What’re ya gonna do, Nelson? Search out the little witch, yourself?”  

“Witch?” Foggy yelped.  

“Yeah, pretty sure.”  

“You mean like… like the Maximoff girl?” Foggy whispered.  

“Sure. Like the Maximoff girl,” Castle deadpanned. “Except that I’ve never seen the Maximoff girl do something purely for her own amusement, like shapeshifting the local heroes into lizards or small children.”  

“Lizards?”  

“Luckily, he seemed to think a small child was funnier. I coulda sworn I was gonna be next, but he just grinned my way and...” Castle mimed an explosion. “Poof. He was gone. Didn’t even have the decency to leave a residue or say any spell-words. So now, Red’s stuck as a f... as a flipping toddler. And a toddler that really doesn’t like cussin’.”  

“True wuv’s kiss,” Matty mumbled.  

“Yeah, that sounds like Matt,” Foggy sighed. “I mean, he’s not fond of cussing, now, really.”  

“Bullshit,” Castle mumbled under his breath. He and the kid made brief eye contact. Castle set his jaw for a long moment, then sighed, deflating. “Sorry,” he mumbled, again.  

Baby Matt beamed up at him, then turned to look at Foggy, seriously. Not that it was easy to take the kid seriously when he was, like, three feet tall and clinging to Castle’s leg like he thought Castle would disappear if he let go. “Is gonna need true wuv’s kiss,” Matty said. Which was what Foggy had thought he’d mumbled, a bit earlier.  

“True Love’s Kiss, huh?” Foggy knelt down to be closer to the kid’s height.  

Shit, he was cuter up close, somehow. That kid was gonna have the lot of them wrapped around his pudgy little fingers in no time, probably.  

“Ye. S’how curses get broke, Fwoggy,” Matt said.  

“In stories,” Foggy agreed, gently.  

“D’ya know who’s my true wuv?” Matt asked. “S’worth a try.” The kid had no ability to form Rs, like, at all. It was blisteringly endearing.  

“Oh, I—uh. I dunno, Matty,” Foggy glanced up at Castle, who rolled his eyes and looked away. Foggy thought he looked a bit pink, but there was some blood pressure involved in the whole situation, so Foggy decided that it would be best to, you know, not misconstrue stuff, unnecessarily. Foggy cleared his throat. “Unlike in the-the faerie tales, ya know? Unlike the faerie tales, true love is a bit less... uh. Obvious. It’s not black n’ white, ya know?”  

Matt tilted his head the other way, frown deepening. “No one wuvs me?” he asked.  

“No! Oh, no-no-no, not like that! No, not at all. I love ya, pal. Like a brother, ya know? And I—what are ya doing?”  

Matty offered Foggy his cheek. “Kiss pease.”  

“Uh. What?”  

“I said, ‘kiss pease,’” Matty repeated. He motioned with his chin. “C’mon.”  

“Oh, I don’t think it’s... it’s probably not that easy, Matty,” Foggy said.  

Matty straightened his head out and frowned at Foggy. “Why not? You wuv me. If you kiss me, isn’ that true wuv’s kiss?”  

“Uh, no, I don’t think so?” Foggy glanced up at Castle, almost looking for guidance. Castle was still studiously avoiding Foggy’s gaze, though, for whatever reason, so Foggy returned his attention to the pint-sized lawyer attached to Castle’s leg. “True Love’s Kiss is, like, a whole thing, ya know? Thing with a capital ‘T-H.’ It’s not, like. It’s not fraternal love—”  

“Whassat?”  

“Oh, uh. Brothers. It’s not brothers’ love. And it’s not platonic – friends' – love, either. It’s usually, ya know. Romantic love. True Love and all. But it’s also kinda only a faerie tale thing—”  

“Why’s it ‘mantic wuv only?”  

“Huh?”  

“In that newer Sleeping Beauty, it was familial love,” Castle offered.  

“Fam-lal?” Matt turned to look up at Castle.  

“Yeah, like. Families. Parents,” Castle looked away, again. “Kids.”  

“Yeah! Fam-lal wuv!” Matty turned back to Foggy and re-offered his cheek. “Kiss pease!”  

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that, sport,” Foggy gave a nervous laugh, though there wasn’t really a reason to be nervous around the kid, or nervous about the idea of planting a kiss on that pudgy kid-cheek. It just. It felt weird! If Foggy kissed Kid Matt’s cheek, Adult Matt would probably know, and Foggy just really didn’t want to deal with that side of it, you know? “Hey, I know!” Foggy funmbled for his phone. “Let’s call Karen! You’ll like Karen, kiddo.”  

“I know Kawen,” Baby Matty said.  

“Yeah, and you’ll – wait, what? You know her?” Foggy glanced up at Matt. Well. Up from his phone, but down at Matt. But then remembered, a bit belatedly, the whole... yeah. Baby Matt also knew who Foggy was, even though they hadn’t met until college. “I mean, of course you do,” Foggy said. “She’s too nice to forget.”  

Baby Matt gave Foggy a dubious look. “I ‘member Lek-twa,” he said.  

“And, Electra’s not... very nice,” Foggy grimaced. “Okay, maybe you just have a real good memory, kiddo.”  

“Yeah,” Matt said, doubtfully. He then buried his face in the side of Castle’s calf.  

Foggy looked helplessly back up at Castle.  

Castle rolled his eyes. “Call Page. S’ probably a good idea, anyhow. That way you n’ Page can figure out kid-watching while I hunt down the little witch that did this.”  

“Yeah, uh. Yeah.”  

--  

Karen was thrilled and confused in equal measure when she came face to face with Baby Matty. “Oh my god, he’s so small! And his hair is so red!” she cooed and knelt down to be more on his level. Matt was still clinging to Castle, though Castle hadn’t let that stop him from cleaning up after lunch.  

“When he actually gets some sun, yeah, it gets super red,” Foggy said. “Spending too much time in the office and doing his after-hours stuff,” he muttered. “He could use some more time in the actual sunlight. Like. On walks or something.”  

“Yeah,” Karen agreed. “Hi, Matt! Do you know who I am?” Her voice did that whole high-pitched thing that people do with small children.  

“Hi, Kawen,” Matt mumbled.  

Somehow, the kid had wriggled out of the ridiculous socks, without once releasing Castle’s leg. He was down to the huge shirt-dress for outerwear.  

If he was gonna be a kid much longer, Foggy figured that they were going to need little kid clothes for him. Proper sized stuff. And Foggy didn’t have any idea how to shop for little kid clothes! He’d never had to do that. He’d never even had to think about doing that!  

Was there a WikiHow about that…?  

“Why don’t you come over here, huh?” Karen offered her hand; kind of like Matt was a dog and Karen was letting him sniff her before she pet him. Except that Matt wasn’t a dog, he was a small child.  

Matt wrinkled his teeny tiny baby nose at her.  

Oh my god, he was so small . Foggy could hardly stand it.  

“Go say hi to Karen, Red,” Castle groused.  

“I did,” Matt’s frown deepened fractionally.  

Castle glanced down at him and met his eye. “We both know that you know what I want you to do, here, kid.” He bounced the leg Matt was still clinging to. “Go greet your friend, Red.”  

Matt wrinkled his nose up at Castle and tightened his hold on Castle’s knee.  

Karen dropped the hand she’d had reached out to Matt with and brought her other hand up to smother a laugh behind her palm. She glanced up at Foggy with twinkling eyes that knew secrets that Foggy, himself, couldn’t begin to parse. “He’s adorable,” she said.  

“He has a court date in less than two weeks,” Foggy brought his hands up and ran them both through his hair.  

“It’ll be fine, Fog,” Karen said.  

(“Get off, you little gremlin,” Castle muttered in the background.)  

“No, Karen, I don’t think it will! It’s his case!” Foggy whined.  

(“Noooo!” Matt whined back at Castle.)  

“If we have to, we’ll figure it out. There’s no point in worrying, yet, Foggy,” Karen rolled her eyes, fondly. “For now, just… enjoy this new side of Matt. Look at him!” She turned to look at Matt again, smile softening considerably.  

Castle and Baby Matt were at an impasse. But Matt seemed to be winning, since Castle was already back to his self-imposed tidying, ignoring the toddler-shaped ankle weight.  

“Is it nap time, do you think?” Karen asked.  

Foggy was about to answer, but realized that Karen probably wasn’t talking to him. He turned to Castle, expectant of his answer.  

Castle glanced over his shoulder at them. “Hell if I know. He’s only been a toddler for a handful of hours, Page.”  

Baby Matt yawned wide, as if on cue.  

“Aww, he’s tired!” Karen stood.  

“No’m not,” Matty mumbled. He rubbed at his eye and gave her a halfhearted glare.  

“Hey, Frank, let me finish the cleaning, yeah? You can go put him down,” Karen said.  

“What?” Castle and Foggy echoed. Castle snapped it, Foggy’s tone was more of a yelp.  

“You want me in charge of childcare? Are you kidding me? I thought you were smarter than that, Page,” Castle glared, but he let her take the washcloth out of his hand and nudge him out of the kitchen area.  

“I’m smart enough to see that Matt likes you,” Karen said.  

“He’s a stupid kid, right now!”  

“Fank,” Matt whined.  

“You’re very smart, Matthew, I’m jus’ trying to make a point,” Castle amended.  

Foggy shuddered a bit. He’d never actually heard Castle call Matt by his first name.  

“You’re good with kids, Frank,” Karen said. So gently. The shape of Frank’s past, the reason The Punisher was ever conceived, was present in the conversation, without being explicitly mentioned, for a long moment. Karen met his eye with an earnest look. “You’ve always been good with kids. And he likes you. Do me n’ Foggy a favour and put him down, okay? We can talk about the situation, after. Yeah? Good?”  

Castle scoffed in affected disgust, but the way he turned away said that he was giving in. “Whatever, Page.”  

Foggy held his breath as Castle tromped toward Matt’s bedroom, clingy toddler in tow. Then he whipped his gaze around to find Karen, wiping down Matt’s counters. “Should they really be alone together?” Foggy hissed.  

Karen gave him a weird look.  

She definitely knew something Foggy didn’t.  

“Karen!” Foggy whined. He wasn’t above whining.  

Karen rolled her eyes and glanced back down at her task. “They were alone, before, right? Frank called you. If he was going to do something, he would have done it instead of calling you.”  

“I…” Foggy deflated. “I hate when you’re right. Do you have to do that? Break out the common sense and all?”  

“Hey, maybe we should call Claire,” Karen said.  

“What? No. This isn’t a get-together, Karen!”  

“No, Foggy,” Karen laughed. “Why don’t you wash the dishes for me? Thanks. What I mean is, well. He’s basically a baby—!”  

“Toddler,” Foggy muttered as he stepped over to the sink.  

“Yeah, he’s a toddler,” Karen turned to wipe down the island counter, as well. “And it’s all, you know. Sudden. Magic, right? That’s what you said on the phone, anyway.”  

“Yeah, magic.”  

Foggy actually really hated washing dishes.  

“Well,” Karen dragged the word out. “Claire’s a nurse. She can just, you know. Make sure nothing’s wrong with him. Make sure he’s at least a healthy toddler, and all. I-I mean. We don’t know how long he’s going to be like that. It might be worth it to… yeah. Get him a check-up. Make sure everything is copacetic.”  

“Copacetic,” Foggy snorted.  

“Fog!”  

“Right, no. I mean, yeah! Yeah. That sounds like it would probably be a good idea. And she’s not a pediatric nurse or anything, but given our lack of Baby Matt documents and stuff, we probably couldn’t go and make a proper appointment with a pediatrician. It makes sense,” Foggy said. He pulled off his suit jacket and hung it absently off a cupboard, them unbuttoned and rolled up his shirtsleeves, in order to actually get down to the washing part of dishwashing.  

“So, we call Claire…?”  

“Yeah! Yeah, totally. Uh, though, maybe we should—uh.” Foggy thumbed over his shoulder in the vague direction of Matt’s bedroom. Then he set about filling one side of Matt’s sink with hot, sudsy water.  

“Yeah, probably,” Karen nodded, a smile creeping onto her expression. “I don’t think Frank much likes surprises, huh?”  

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t risk his good graces, huh?”  

“Especially if we want him to keep playing babysitter, right?” a smile continued to play around her expression. “Matt really likes him. We probably don’t want to risk having to appease him if we drive Frank off.”  

“Yeah. What is even with that? Is it, like, a duck thing?”  

“A… duck thing?” Karen paused in her cleaning to glance at Foggy.  

Foggy paused halfway through a pasta pot scrub to meet her gaze. “Yeah, you know. A duck thing! Like… Castle was the first thing Matt saw? Ducks!”  

“Ah,” Karen nodded slowly. “I, uh. No, I don’t think it’s a duck thing, Foggy.”  

Foggy deflated a bit, then got back down to business, scrubbing the vestiges of macaroni and cheese out of the pot he still had in hand. “Okay, cool. Not a duck thing,” Foggy said. “What is it, though? Because, I don’t see how Matt, at any age, would be so willing to entrust his bodily safety to the Punisher.”  

Karen made a small noise that was either a hiccup or a laugh.  

Foggy decided that it was a hiccup, so that he wouldn’t have to be offended about the laugh.  

“Things change, Fog,” Karen said. Her voice was kinda thick and wobbly, like she was either about to burst out crying. Or laughing. “Besides, kids have good instincts, usually—”  

“No, kids are stupid,” Foggy disagreed.  

“Matt has good instincts,” Karen amended.  

“Yeah, no. Not so much. Do you know how many dumpsters he’s been in? He’s one of the dumbest smart people I’ve ever met in my life, Karen,” Foggy scoffed.  

“Frank’s trustworthy,” Karen said.  

Foggy sighed loudly, head leaned back and everything. “Agree to disagree.”  

Karen made another one of those hiccup/laugh noises. “C’mon, Foggy,” she wheedled. “He called you! He knew you’d want to know about the whole kid situation, with Matt, and he called you. Surely that should earn him a bit of grace, right?”  

“Agree to disagree,” Foggy repeated.  

“Okay, okay,” Karen said, but she didn’t sound very offended at Foggy’s disagreement. “I’m, uh. I’m gonna go tell Frank the plan, with calling Claire and having ‘Baby’ Matt looked at, okay? I’ll be right back.”  

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead,” Foggy said.  

--  

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Claire said.  

“Yeah. Thanks for coming over anyway, I know it’s… it’s a lot, yeah?” Foggy grinned at her. “Asking someone to believe that a grown man is suddenly a baby…”  

“Toddler, Nelson, for fuck’s sake,” Castle muttered.  

Claire, Karen, and Foggy were all standing around in the dining room area, kind of awkwardly between rooms, like none of them were sure how long Claire’s visit was going to be. Or like a mom that said she was going to leave “in one second” and then started up a conversation with her best friend, right inside the door.  

“Toddler,” Foggy amended. “Whatever. It’s hard to believe. Obviously.”  

“Yeah. And I still don’t know what to believe,” Claire said. She had her arms crossed tightly, wary of the semi-strangers around her. She turned to Castle, who was collapsed on the living room couch. "He’s really a kid? How?”  

And that was odd, right? Claire turning to Castle, of all people, for confirmation? Like he was more trustworthy than Foggy or Karen.  

“Yeah, maybe three,” Castle said.  

“Any theories, or…?” Claire prompted.  

Castle sighed heavily. “Well. It’s magic,” he said. “And I meant to be out there, already, tracking the little shit down, to try’n reverse this.”  

“Okay. Magic. Sure,” Claire said.  

Foggy, on a personal note, thought she was taking things very well. Possibly a bit too well, actually.  

Then again, this was the nurse that patched up a blind vigilante after finding him in a dumpster, at least once. If you can take that kind of thing in stride, there was probably a lot more you could take in stride. Like the magical babyfication of a grown-ass man.  

“Anything else?” Claire asked.  

“He’s about a tenth of his age,” Castle said.  

“What?” Foggy asked.  

“How do you know?” Karen asked.  

“I did some thinking, and a bit of loose math,” Castle said. “Guy’s thirty-something, now he’s three-something. I figure even magic’s gotta have some kind of sense to it, so why not a tenth his age, for the aging down?”  

“Hm,” Claire glanced at Karen and Foggy again. “Any alternate theories? Suggestions? Observations?”  

“He’s been wandering around in one of Frank’s shirts,” Karen said.  

“Relevant observations,” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose.  

“Frank’s shirt?” Foggy frowned and tried to puzzle out why that was kind of, but not really, weird. Like, the kid didn’t have anything in his size, so the shirt dress made sense, unless they wanted a naked three-year-old running around. Which they didn’t. But…  

Oh.  

Oh wait.  

This was Matt’s apartment. There was no reason for him to be wearing clothes belonging to anyone but himself, in his own apartment. Adult Matt’s shirts were, like, right there – in a manner of speaking. But Baby Matt wasn’t wearing Adult Matt’s shirt, he was wearing Castle’s.  

Foggy turned to Karen, a bit bug-eyed.  

Karen smothered a bit of a smile in return.  

But like. Maybe Frank dressed Matt somewhere else? Presumably, Matt didn’t do the aging-down in a very convenient place. Yeah, that had to be it. Right? And it’s just more convenient to like—yeah. It’s more convenient to just leave the kid in the first thing you put him in! That had to be it.  

“Hello?” Claire snapped her fingers for attention. “Matter at hand? Anyone?”  

“We should call the Avengers,” Foggy blurted.  

Castle groaned and dropped his head on the back of the couch, which was fair.  

“I’m not sure Matt would appreciate outside involvement in his situation,” Claire deadpanned. “I’m thinking the ‘Mike’ schtick isn’t going to work on the nosy superhero club.”  

“Especially since his middle name is Michael,” Foggy added.  

Claire glanced at him, lip curled. “Is it?” she deadpanned.  

“You… didn’t know that?”  

“Oh my god, he is—he’s the worst at this,” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, again. “Jesus Christ. Using his middle name? Really? If I had wanted, I probably could have found him with a few short Google searches. Especially with the public figure angle of being a lawyer owning his own law firm!”  

“Yeah, he doesn’t really think stuff like that through,” Foggy shrugged.  

Everyone seemed to be in agreement, nodding or muttering along. Silence fell between them, afterwards, which grew pretty uncomfortable pretty quickly.  

“Castle!” Foggy turned.  

“Fog, neighbours,” Karen hissed.  

“Oop, right. Sorry. Castle!” Foggy whisper-shouted instead.  

“What, Nelson?” Castle grunted.  

“How much longer is Baby Matt going to sleep?” Foggy asked.  

“Seriously?”  

“Yeah, seriously. When’s he gonna wake up? We should get that whole ‘checkup’ thing done sooner rather than later, right? So that Claire can leave or stay as she pleases, instead of waiting on Sleeping Beauty, there,” Foggy nodded in the direction of Matt’s bedroom.  

“It’s a nap,” Frank deadpanned.  

Claire snorted.  

“Uh, Frank?” Karen said.  

Castle rolled his eyes, then tilted his head a bit more, meeting her eye instead of Foggy’s. “Page?”  

“Well, um. You’re the only one here who has that kind of… experience, you know? With kids, I mean.” And the shadow of loss was in the conversation again, carefully tiptoed around but still obvious.  

Castle huffed and sat up, but only so that he could drop his head into his hands. “Could be ten minutes, could be another hour,” he said. It had been about half an hour, already, which was the time it had taken to call and convince Claire, and then for her to get over to Matt’s apartment. “Kids that age, two or three, usually sleep for a coupla hours.”  

“Hours?” Foggy asked.  

“Yeah. Hours,” Frank said. “Usually closer to one. Sometimes up to three. At that age, Lisa—” Castle cleared his throat. “She was down to an hour. But Junior. He. Yeah, he was still at about three.” He cleared his throat again, awkward and forced. “He was still at about three hour naps, when he was three. And where Lisa was off naps by four, Junior was still napping at five.”  

“Oh,” Foggy said. He felt awkward, but he kept his tone and expression light.  

“So. He could be asleep for ten more minutes. Or he could be asleep for another hour.” Castle rubbed his hands together, almost anxiously, and glanced over the couch at them. “This is his first nap since he got abracadabra’d into a tyke. I don’t have a pattern to work off of, yet, besides the sporadic naps Red takes when he’s not less than three feet tall. And here’s hoping I won’t have a pattern, owing to him not being a toddler for long.”  

“Matt takes naps? Why would you know that?” Foggy asked.  

“Guys, look,” Claire broke in. “Can we maybe,” she waved her hand around and shook her head a bit, as if trying to find the words for what she wanted to say. “Can we wake the kid up, do the checkup, and then put him back down? I don’t have an hour, the hospital is busy and understaffed and I need to get back to work, as soon as possible.”  

“Why does he know that Matt takes naps?” Foggy asked Karen.  

“Why don’t you?” Karen raised an eyebrow. “I’ve caught him napping in his office, haven’t you?”  

“But why does—”  

“Can we stay on task for three minutes?” Claire snapped. “Come on.”  

Foggy winced. “Right. Uh. Sorry.”  

“Let’s wake the kid, okay? I don’t have time for all of this, guys. Not today,” Claire said. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but this is supposed to be my lunch break.”  

A silent hesitation ran through the room as both Karen and Foggy turned to look at Castle for… something. Permission, a “no.” Something.  

Claire rolled her eyes so hard that Foggy could almost swear that he heard it.  

And then there was a muffed, “Fank? Fank?!” from the direction of the bedroom. “Fank!” Matty sounded downright distressed. Castle was halfway to his feet, trying to look beleaguered, but only managing vague concern, when Baby Matt papped his way out of the bedroom. He papped along with urgency and seemed about half a degree from toppling over, the whole time. “Fank!” relief flooded the toddler so suddenly that he actually did manage to fall over.  

Castle sighed and walked over to him. “Red,” he greeted.  

“I waked up and you wa’ gone, Fank!” the toddler sniffled. “Don’ leabe me again, Fank!” His baby face was contorted in a heart-rending mixture of fear and misery, with a touch of anger simmering just under the surface.  

Castle sighed and squatted down, beside the kid. “Look, Red. I didn’t go anywhere, yeah? And even if I did, I’d always come right back to you,” he reached out and tapped the toddler’s round little nose. “I’m not leaving you. Hell, you’re not getting rid of me, kid.”  

Matt gave him about the most distrustful look that Foggy had ever seen on a toddler. “Pomise?”  

Castle offered the kid his pinky. “Promise.”  

Baby Matt pushed himself back to a wobbly standing position, then hooked his pinky with Castle’s much bigger pinky. The distrust faded away into relief.  

Foggy was starting to think Karen was wrong about it not being the duck thing, because—really!—why would Matt be so attached to the big, bad Punisher? Why wouldn’t he be making his baby demands of Foggy himself? Or Karen? Or Claire, even? Why was he making his baby demands of a murderer like Castle, who didn’t even have it in him to regret what he was doing?  

“Matt,” Claire called over.  

Baby Matt jerked back a bit and turned to look at Claire. His surprise made way for a look of beatific joy. “Cwaire!”  

Claire gave a soft smile. She probably couldn’t help it. Which meant that it was just as Foggy thought: Baby Matt was going to have them all wrapped around his pudgy little fingers in no time. He already had Castle and Karen, and Foggy was well on his way to being broken by the innocent-looking child. Innocent-looking, maybe, but there had to be a devious, underlying motive, right?, for Matt to wrap them all around his finger so easily. Or maybe he was just that cute and protectable.  

Humans were biologically programmed to find babies (and small things, and baby animals, and even those cutesy cartoons with the big heads) adorable. It was one of those evolutionary traits that contributed to the success and widespreadedness of the human species. Babies turned on the “must protect” drive, and Baby Matt was firmly in all the right little categories to inspire exactly that in all his friends.  

Curse biological programming for making Foggy so weak to the small child’s wiles.  

“Hey, little guy,” Claire said. “Would you mind if I gave you a quick checkup? We want to make sure you’re healthy, you know?”  

“Doctor Cwaire,” Baby Matt mumbled. He walked over to her and gave her the universal child signal for “pick me up.”  

Claire scoffed down at him, but squatted down and picked him up, anyway. She settled the boy on her hip, smiling at him. “I’m not a doctor, you know. I’m a nurse.”  

“Oh,” Matt said. “Okay. An’ you here to make sure I’m healfy? Why?"  

"Well, how old are you, Matt?" Claire asked.  

“I’m…” Baby Matt trailed off and frowned thoughtfully. “I’m… not little. Or. I’m not ‘pposed to be little. Am I?”  

“No, sweetie,” Claire agreed.  

The conversation with Claire, over the phone, had included information about the childish facsimiles of Matt’s adult memories, packaged haphazardly in the smaller body. But, somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Foggy that the three-year-old Matt might know that he wasn’t actually three years old.  

“I’m. Big?” Baby Matt asked.  

“Average,” Castle offered,  

“Ab’rage.” Baby Matt frowned a bit more deeply. “I’m a growed-up?”  

“Yes,” Claire said. “You’ve done all your growing up once, already. We’re hoping this isn’t going to be a permanent thing, because no one wants you to have to do all that growing up again. You know?”  

Though, Foggy couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t benefits to Matt growing up a second time. First of all, he’d… have his sight. He’d be…  

Hell, he’d be lost, especially if he continued to hold his old memories as he grew older, processing them more fully. He'd know braille, remember over twenty years of blindness, and lack those abilities that enabled him to be Daredevil. Matt would probably hate it, especially since he’d come to terms with being blind, and “fixing” that wasn’t worth everything else.  

“Kay,” Baby Matt said slowly.  

Claire turned to the others. “I’m gonna go with him into the other room and just do a quick checkup. It’s just for his privacy—”  

“Can Fank come?” Matt interrupted.  

“I’m sorry?” Claire turned to him, blinking a bit.  

“Fank.” Matt helpfully pointed a pudgy finger in Castle’s direction. “Can Fank come.”  

Castle groaned. Foggy could understand – Matt was turning out to be one of the clingiest three-year-olds Foggy had ever met. Granted, it was  rather small pool of three-year-olds that Foggy had met, including his little brother (decades ago), but still. He was very attached to Castle and seemed to want to keep him in sight at all times, if not in reach.  

“If that’s what you want,” Claire said. “But it’s going to be quick, I promise.”  

“Fank, pease,” Matt said. He was very prim about it, too, straightening his spine and meeting Claire’s eye. “I want Fank.”  

“Alright, kid,” Castle followed Claire, and Baby Matt, into Matt’s bedroom. Claire flicked on the light and pushed the door mostly closed behind them.  

“That was weird. Right?” Foggy asked.  

Karen gave him a mild look, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. A bit of a sad smile. “If Matt is brought back to his proper age, I’m sure he’d rather explain things himself,” she said. “Ben did say I had a journalist’s nose, right? It’s not all Matt’s fault that I found him out before he was ready to tell.”  

“Found what out?” Foggy asked.  

“No, it’s really not my story. But it’s… cute, you know? In a sad way. Seeing how the little version of Matt—”  

“Baby Matt,” Foggy offered.  

Karen dropped her chin, smiling. “Right.” She straightened again. “Baby Matt. Seeing how Baby Matt reflects the emotions and relationships of Adult Matt. I assume, if he's Baby Matt right now, that he’s Adult Matt when he’s less short, right?”  

“Yeah, Adult Matt,” Foggy agreed. He frowned. “Wait. What do you mean?”  

“Oh, we should ask Claire to measure him! Then we can get him some proper clothing. Stuff that fits him, you know? And maybe one of the trainer potties so that he’s not dependent on an adult when he needs to go?”  

“Karen!” Foggy whined.  

Karen was already walking over to Matt’s bedroom door. He rapped lightly on it, but didn’t enter. “Claire?”  

“Yeah?” Claire returned.  

“Could you maybe get a size off him? I’m thinking about running downtown to grab him some clothes that fit.”  

“Sure, Karen.”  

“Karen!” Foggy whined again. “What do you mean?”  

“I mean, he can’t go around in big tee shirts all the time. Okay, maybe he could. And he wouldn’t mind it, either, because he’s a little kid. But he deserves some proper clothes and to be comfortable, you know?” Karen said.  

Foggy gave her a look.  

Karen smiled back at him, all innocence that he one hundred percent didn’t fall for. Okay. Eighty-five percent didn’t fall for. She was good at the angelic, innocent gig!  

--  

They were back down to Foggy and Castle in the apartment with Baby Matt. Karen had left to man the office (she and Foggy had done ro-sham-bo for who was going to stay and who was going to go, and Foggy was a bit disappointed that he’d be continuing to spend time with Frank, honestly).  

Castle had set up a laptop and some kind of kid show for Matt, then picked up his copy of Fahrenheit 451 and settled back on the couch while Matt scrutinized the kid show with clear suspicion.  

Foggy, for his part, had a load of paperwork and research to do for the firm, and just because he wasn’t at the office didn’t mean he didn’t have those things that needed doing. He set up, as tidily as possible, at the dining room table so that he could keep half an eye on Baby Matt and half an eye on Castle. Not that either of them seemed like they would be budging from their places on the couch, anytime soon.  

The first few hours went by just fine. Everything was peaceful and Baby Matt was content to suck on his thumb and lean against Castle’s side. He was positively dwarfed next to Castle, of course, and he seemed to find comfort in that. Castle, for his part, didn’t complain about the setup, either. He just accommodated the much smaller person who had invaded his personal space, half-cradling Matt with the arm he had around him.  

It was terribly domestic.  

And then, distantly, Foggy heard a phone ringing. No. He heard a phone vibrating against a solid surface.  

From the way Baby Matt and Castle looked up from their respective entertainment sources (and who would have thought that Frank Castle would be a book guy, anyway?) it seemed that Foggy was not, in fact, hearing things.  

“Whassat?” Baby Matt mumbled around his thumb.  

“Nothin’ you need to be concerned about, Red,” Castle said. He turned and gave Foggy a meaningful look. Not that Foggy could quite make out the meaning of said meaningful look.  

Foggy frowned in return.  

Castle scoffed, rolling his eyes, and nodded toward Matt’s room. Why was it always Matt’s bedroom, anyway? Not that there was a lot of other places for things to be in the apartment. It just. Seemed a bit excessive that everything seemed to happen there or head there. Oh. Oh god, not “head there” in a lewd or lascivious way! Just…!  

Ugh.  

Foggy entered the room and listened for the ringing. He kind of hoped that whoever was calling would just give up, preferably before Foggy found the burner phone. And he knew it was the burner phone, because Matt’s normal phone announced the callers by name or number, speaking it all out, while the burner phone never got changed off of its obnoxious, default ringer.  

Unfortunately, in Foggy’s opinion, he was able to track the phone down before it had rang out. Which meant he should probably answer it.  

He groaned to himself, again, then flipped the phone open – of course it was a shitty flip phone, on top of being a burner – hit the call button, and raised the phone to his ear.  

He cleared his throat, briefly. “Uh, hello?”  

“Hey! This… doesn’t sound like DD, no offense.”  

“Uh, yeah. No. I’m not… DD,” Foggy found himself bobbing his head mindlessly, trying to  figure out the voice on the other end of the call. “This is, um. I’m a friend. Who’s this?”  

“A friend,” the voice echoed back cryptically. Which, okay, Foggy maybe deserved that. “Is DD around?”  

“Maybe. I mean. Can I ask why?” Foggy asked.  

“We had a thing planned. DD didn’t show. That’s not like him.”  

“A thing planned,” Foggy repeated back.  

“I’d like to talk to our mutual friend, if you don’t mind.”  

“Yeah, uh. Hang on.” Foggy brought the phone away from his ear and looked down at the screen, rather blankly, for a long minute. Then lit up as he figured out how to mute the call. “Castle!” he called, phone safely muted.  

“What?” Castle groaned back.  

“Did Matt have anything planned for after your whole… midday showdown with the witch?” he turned and left Matt’s bedroom, phone still in hand.  

“I dunno, I’m not stalking him,” Castle wrinkled his nose at Foggy, derisive.  

“You’re friends, aren’t you?”  

“A bit.”  

“And friends talk to each other,” Foggy said.  

“I’m pretty sure friends not talking to each other is a problem every single person in this room has experienced, to disastrous affect, in the past year,” Castle deadpanned.  

“Yeah, and Matt isn’t perfect, but he tries not to make the same exact mistakes, over and over again. I mean, he’s been talking to me, more, right? And you’re his friend, too. Why wouldn’t he talk to you, yeah?” Foggy motioned with the still-muted phone.  

“Get on with it, Nelson.”  

“So you don’t have any idea who Matt might have planned to meet up with, after your, uh, witchhunt? He didn’t say anything to you?”  

“Jesus f—give me the phone,” Castle slapped his book down and reached his hand out to Foggy.  

Foggy immediately set the phone in Castle’s outstretched hand. He didn’t even think about it, really. But that was… bit not good, right? He shouldn’t just hand over Matt’s stuff to the Punisher…  

In Foggy’s brief musing, his eyes drifted until he met Baby Matt’s eyes, where Baby Matt was still curled up in Castle’s side. Foggy smiled and did a dumb little wave.  

Matt tilted his head and waved back, hesitantly.  

On Matt’s other side, Castle took the call off mute. “Who’s this?” Castle sidghed.  

“Ah! There’s a voice I know! Frankie!”  

Frank groaned and brought the phone away from his ear. The caller on the other side was loud enough that Foggy could hear him, pretty clearly.  

“Hawkeye,” Castle deadpanned, meeting Foggy’s eye.  

“Hawkeye?” Foggy squeaked. “Why is Hawkeye calling Ma...Mmmm—Daredevil!” Foggy put his hands over his heart and looked at the ground. Was he about to have a heart attack? His heart was beating so fast, inside his rib cage. “Why does Hawkeye have plans with Daredevil? Isn’t Hawkeye one of the Avengers? I thought M—mmmm—! I thought Daredevil hated the Avengers.”  

Castle gave Foggy the most deadpan, unimpressed look. “Good save.”  

“Thanks,” Foggy said.    

“I’m still here, folks,” Hawkeye said, distant over the speaker of the phone.  

Castle sighed and put the phone back up to his ear and leaned against the arm of the couch a bit more heavily. “Don’t call me Frankie, for one,” he said. “And Red’s indisposed.”    

“I didn’t ask you about DD,” Hawkeye accused.  

“Red’s friend, here, told me,” Castle deadpanned.     

“Makes sense, sure-sure, yeah,” Hawkeye said.  

Foggy sidled a bit closer to Castle, so as to hear the conversation better. And immediately backed up again when Castle gave him a hard, judgmental look. Foggy put his hands up in placation.  

Castle took the phone from his ear and hit the speaker phone button.  

“What’s with DD, then? What’s got him so busy he can’t answer a call from a friend that he planned to meet, today, hm? Should I be worried?” Hawkeye continued. And he did sound pretty worried, actually. “I mean, if you’re there, Castle... is it that bad or...?”  

Or what?, Foggy wondered.  

“Different kind of problem, Barton,” Castle deadpanned.    

“Than accidentally scheduling two things at the same time? Or a different kind of thing keeping DD from the phone?” Hawkeye asked.  

Castle glanced at Foggy, then sighed and dipped his head forward. “Different kinda thing keeping Red. Uh. Do the Avengers have any experience with age regression? Magical age regression, not the other kind.”    

“Oh. Yeah, that’ll do it,” Hawkeye said.  

“Do you lot have experience with that or no?” Castle bit out, “Because, if you don’t, there’s really no reason to keep talking. I’ve got a witch to find—”    

“Whoa, whoa, Castle. Hold on, there, Wanda wouldn’t—”    

“This has nothing to do with Maximoff. The girl’s completely uninvolved. You don’t have to worry about my going after her. My quarry’s a bit bluer,” Castle cut in. The interruption of an interruption was almost amusing, for Foggy.    

“Okay, okay. Uh. Age regression? I think there’s probably an incident or two that involved something like that. I can look into that—”    

“No personal information, Barton. You know how Red is. He’ll feel violated and betrayed if you mention any part of his situation, and you know the situation will eventually be resolved, one way or another. He’ll have plenty of time to be disappointed in the both of us, after the fact, for sure.”  

“No shit, Castle. I’ll take a peek through old reports. I’m sure one of us has been made into a kid, at some point, and that means – being that Cap is so into thorough reporting and documentation, that de-brief bullshit – there should be a pretty thorough explanation or three on how that whole situation resolved itself, or else a lot of exposition on how we have no idea how it solved itself. One or the other, ya know?” Hawkeye said.  

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever information you can get on situations like this would be... it would be something, at least,” Castle huffed. He adjusted his hold on Baby Matt, absently. 

“Oh, yeah. How are you holding up, man? What with DD being affected with something like that? How young is he?” Hawkeye put in.  

Castle glanced at Foggy, suspicious, then glanced away again. “I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. This has barely anything to do with me, beyond how clingy the little shit is.”  

“Fank!” Baby Matt whined. He’d been quiet and unobtrusive, up until then. The bad word must have dragged him away from his little kid cartoons. He looked up at Frank, mouth open and eyes sad with something like betrayal, but only “like” betrayal. Even Foggy, who had a few issues with things like social cues, could see that it was a put-upon affect. An act by the baby version of his best friend.  

“Sorry, kid,” Castle huffed, but it was halfhearted at best.    

“Oh shit, was that him?” Hawkeye asked.  

“Cut the cussing down,” Castle said. “He’ll be at my throat about it in no time if you don’t. Trust me, it’s bad enough, as-is.”    

“How old is he? Do you even know?”  

Castle huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Three? Maybe?”  

When talking to Foggy or Karen, Castle had been a lot more sure of that exact facet of Matt’s current condition. It seemed that an Avenger brought out a bit of doubt in him, even if it wasn’t an Avenger that Castle particularly respected.  

“Castle mentioned—” Foggy huffed and moved closer, so that he wasn’t shouting, ostensibly.  

Castle still gave him an offended look when Foggy was closer to him.  

“Castle said Ma—ah haha, no—I mean, said that. That. Shit! Castle said he seemed to be, like, a tenth of his age. Three and then some, to his thirty and some,” Foggy said. He kept almost giving away Matt’s name and it was already getting old. Were secret identities always such problems?  

Castle glared up at Foggy, though Foggy studiously avoided Castle’s eye and didn’t back off, this time.  

“Huh. Weird, ” Hawkeye said.  

At the same time, Matt was looking up at Foggy with his little jaw dropped and his little mouth agape. Because Foggy swore, of course. Foggy was pretty sure he knew less conscientious nuns. I mean, it was still a pretty put-upon expression, but the fact that the kid was paying enough attention to the grown-ups' conversation was... was that unusual? Or were all little kids paying attention like that and people just didn’t know or something?    

“But that would be one way to spell it, right? Using a percentage instead of taking off a set amount of time or something. Or like... how did Banner put it? Like running time through him instead of him through time.”    

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castle deadpanned.    

“Yeah, it’s fine. Doesn’t really matter,” Hawkeye dismissed. “Is there any other information you have on the situation or is that about all you have, right now?”    

“I saw who did it. It’s not one of the usuals, far as I can tell. Some troublemaker, looking for fun and finding it in the inconvenience of this crap,” Castle glanced down at Matt. “Almost left Red as a lizard, actually. And I dunno how I would have dealt with a lizard. Kids, at least—well.” Castle shrugged. “I know how kids work.”  

There was a silence from Hawkeye’s end, short but awkward. “Yeah, uh. I can see how ‘kid’ would be easier than ‘lizard.’ And he still knows who you are? Does he remember everything or just some things? Are his memories minimized to what a three-year-old version of him would know, or what?”    

“Well.” Castle sighed and shifted in his seat. “He’s got memories, yeah.”  

“He remembers people that he wouldn’t have known, at all, at that age,” Foggy offered.  

“Yeah, what the friend said,” Castle eyed Foggy with blatant annoyance. “He seems to know things from later on, but he’s filtering those things through the sieve of a three-year-old's brain. So, he knows who I am, but I doubt he remembers cooperating on investigations.”    

“Huh. Interesting,” Hawkeye mused. “Hey, if you need a babysitter or something, tell me, yeah? I know some folks.”    

“If you mean Kate, then thanks but no thanks.”    

“Kate’s a good kid!”    

“Kate’s a menace.”    

“I...! Okay, yeah, actually. I can’t argue with that. Kate’s a menace,” Hawkeye agreed. “Should I call back at this number or somewhere else? After going through old reports n’ shit, I mean.”    

“Here should be fine,” Castle said. “You’ve got a number for mine, too, right? If you can’t get someone on this number, use that one. No, that’s not permission to call me out of the blue or send unwarranted texts. I will absolutely throttle you if you take that as some kind of open invitation.”    

“Geez, got it. Don’t call Frank unless it’s an emergency,” Hawkeye snorted.  

“And don’t go passing my number around, either. I better not get any Avengers calling or texting me,” Castle tacked on.    

“Right, right. No texts or calls unless it’s an emergency, no passing your number around. I dunno who you take me for, Frankie, but I’m hurt,” Hawkeye joked.  

“Don’t call me—”    

“Right, bye! Talk to you later!” The call went silent with Hawkeye’s hanging up.  

Castle ground his teeth and snapped the flip phone shut, then leaned forward – briefly jostling Baby Matt – to place the burner phone on the coffee table, albeit with a bit more force than strictly necessary. “I don’t know what Red sees in him,” Castle muttered.  

Foggy opened his mouth to mention Castle’s less-than-pristine past, then snapped his mouth closed, again. It was probably best to not antagonize someone who had access to, and who always seemed willing to use, any number of guns.  

Castle, though, glanced up at Foggy and quirked a wry smile as he settled back on the couch and re-nestled Baby Matt against his side. “What? You think I know what Red sees in me? I’m the last person Red should be associating with, Nelson. Our moralities clash to a point where there ain’t any reconciling it, you know? I think he doesn’t do enough, he thinks I do too much.”  

“You actually think that?” Foggy asked.  

Castle rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I’ve got enough brain left, bullet to it notwithstanding, that I think I can see how unmatched the two of us are, in any capacity. Our thoughts on weapons and killing are barely the tip of the iceberg.”  

“Oh,” Foggy backed up a bit, to give Castle back his personal space. “If your differences are so irreconcilable, then... why do you hang around?”  

“Guy’s like a limpet, Nelson. I couldn’t be rid of him if I wanted to.”  

(Baby Matt mumbled something to himself. It sounded vaguely like “I wike Fank,” but Foggy wasn’t paying enough attention to catch the mumbled words for sure.)  

“But,” Foggy felt a dawning realization. He didn’t know if it horrified him or not, either. “But you don’t want to.”  

Castle scoffed, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he picked up his beat-up, well-loved copy of Fahrenheit 451 and flipped it back to the page he’d been on.  

“You don’t want to be rid of him, and he’s probably happier to keep an eye on you than let you run amuck, huh?” Foggy pushed.  

Baby Matt popped his thumb out of his mouth. “Amuck! Amuck!” he beamed.  

“It’s a good word, isn’t it?” Foggy grinned down at him.  

“Ahhh—muck!” Baby Matt laughed at himself, clearly thrilled with the “new” word.  

“Sure,” Castle said. “Not that he can stop me if I really want to hunt down the human waste that roams this city.” He shrugged, though seemed to pay Baby Matt enough attention that he only shrugged the one shoulder, so as not to disturb Baby Matt.  

“Ah, but you don’t!” Foggy said. “There hasn’t been a report of a Punisher-attributed killing in months! I bet Matt’s thrilled about it, too. You going a route that means a bit less blood, and all.”  

“I haven’t given up killing,” Castle said.  

Foggy stopped. Frowned. “But...”  

“We’ve made a few compromises,” Castle sighed. “I don’t kill unless I need to, when we work together. He doesn’t ask if I’ve killed anyone recently. It works out. Enough.”  

“But. The reports!”  

“What, you think people are gonna be interested if the news is the same every day? It’s a twenty-four-hour news cycle, Nelson. Newspapers, networks, websites—they’re in a competitive business, and a stale headline isn’t enough to rake in the money, is it? Punisher’s old news right now. Killings have slowed down, none of them are innocent... people are more pro-Punisher than against, lately. Of course that’s not as newsworthy,” Castle drawled.  

Foggy deflated. “Yeah... I guess.”  

Castle nodded, then turned back to his book.  

--  

They’d survived to evening and Karen had returned from the office when they’d heard a dull thud above them. Foggy didn’t immediately think that it was anything all that worrying, or worth paying attention to. He’d heard it and been almost immediately ready to ignore it.  

Castle, though, immediately looked up from his book, so stiff and alert that Foggy noticed, even out the corner of his eye, while he was still engaged in research for one of his upcoming cases. Castle dogeared his book – Foggy winced a bit, inwardly – and set it down on the arm of the couch. “Scuse me, Red,” he mumbled.  

Matt allowed himself to be gently moved from his spot, where he’d leaned up against Castle’s ribs.  

“What’s up?” Foggy asked.  

“Someone’s on the roof,” Castle said.  

Which, you know, wasn’t something that Foggy was expecting, actually. “What?”  

“Someone’s on the roof. I’ll be back.” Castle stopped at a side table Matt had near the door, opened the drawer, and reached in and up a bit.  

Foggy wasn’t expecting Frank to produce a gun. “What?” he repeated, aimlessly. “Wait,” he stood from his seat. He pointed rigidly in the vague direction of the gun. Or the side table. Or both. He wasn’t sure, he just knew he needed to do something and pointing seemed to be the best and most prevalent option for it. “Hold on, wait! Where was that? Why’s that in there? Why does... what’s Matt doing with a gun?!”  

“It’s not his,” Castle gave Foggy a truly unimpressed look.  

“No? Well, what’s he doing with it?!” Foggy demanded.  

The gun wasn’t really that big of a deal, so long as it was legal. (Foggy didn’t think the gun was legal, though – how would a blind man legally get a gun license?) The big deal, as it were, was that Matt didn’t approve of gun use, where it could be avoided, and that the fun – being in Matt’s apartment – ran directly counter to that lack of approval for gun use.  

“It’s mine,” Castle said. That didn’t actually answer much of anything. Though it definitely meant that the gun was illegal. Castle was a violent felon, tried and convicted, and he’d broken all manner of laws since his initial conviction, so there was no way he had a legal gun permit. There was also no way that New York State, itself, would renew his gun rights, given the violent crimes he’d been accused, tried, and convicted for. Not unless, like, Castle managed to get a very convincing lawyer, after serving his time for his accumulated crimes.  

Unless someone pardoned him. If he was pardoned, everything would probably go a lot easier, in terms of requisition of gun rights and all that. But that was entirely beside the point, because no one was going to pardon the Punisher, of all people!  

Castle was opening the front door to Matt’s apartment.  

“Wait, why’s your gun in Matt’s apartment?!” Foggy demanded.  

Castle ignored him and shut the door behind him.  

Foggy dropped back down into his chair, heavily. He sighed and ran his hands over his face. Castle was, of course, expected to be trouble, but Foggy found himself especially stressed after the introduction of a gun to the immediate situation.  

“Fwoggy?”  

Foggy startled as a small hand tapped against his elbow.  

“Matt!” Foggy turned and plastered on a grin for Matt.  

“S’okay, Fwoggy,” Baby Matt said.  

Foggy’s smile turned questioning.  

“Fank’s ‘llowed to haff his gun here. It’s for pro-tec-tion,” Baby Matt continued. “Long as is... safe. Hided away.”  

“That doesn’t sound—I mean. It’s your house, I guess. And it’s up to you. I just don’t know why you would allow for the Punisher to leave one of his weapons here. You’ve always...” Foggy trailed off. It really wasn’t worth his time to question a three-year-old Matt about what Adult Matt was thinking when he let Castle keep a gun in the apartment.  

I mean. Come on! Why—how often would Castle have to be there for Matt to rationalize Castle leaving anything there? Were there other weapons? Other things that belonged to Castle?  

Foggy ran a hand through his hair.  

“S’okay,” Baby Matt soothed again.  

Foggy, though, looked around Matt’s apartment. Really looked. Reminded himself that Matt was blind and that certain items didn’t make sense for Matt’s apartment to hold, unless those items were for someone else, someone who could see.  

Castle hadn’t left to get the laptop, for one thing. He hadn’t left at all, as far as Foggy knew, between bringing Baby Matt to Adult Matt’s apartment and the moment he walked out Matt’s front door in order to go check the roof, like, a minute ago. So, he also hadn’t left for the book he’d been reading. Or the shirt Baby Matt was still wearing like a sack dress.  

All that, however, could have been in a—in a bugout bag. Or an overnight bag. Something like that.  

Over on a far shelf, there was a Rubik’s Cube. Next to it was a white cube that Foggy was pretty sure was a Braillecube, an adaption of the Rubik’s Cube intended to make Rubik’s cubes accessible to people who were blind, but it was the colourful version that Foggy’s gaze lingered on.  

“Fwoggy?”  

Foggy glanced back down at Baby Matt. “Yeah, man?”  

“You mad at me?”  

“What? No!” Foggy blinked down at him. He couldn’t imagine anyone being mad at the pint-sized Matt. Not for long, anyway.  

Baby Matt didn’t look very comforted, however. “You sure?” he asked. “You mad at... at bigger me, then?”  

“Why would you think that?” Foggy asked.  

“Th’ gun made you... s’ghetti upsetti.”  

“I—I—I, yeah, I mean, a bit?” Foggy rubbed the back of his neck. “Some folks just don’t like guns, Matty. I was surprised, you know? About where the gun was and—and Castle getting it. And now he’s checking the roof... with a gun!” Foggy gave an incredulous little laugh. “What is my life, today? Seriously.”  

“I don’ wike guns,” Baby Matt said.  

“I know,” Foggy gave a weak shrug. He’d previously thought that Matt’s dislike for guns was a bit stronger than it apparently was. Strong enough to keep guns out of his apartment, far away from himself. But apparently not.  

“But... I wike Fank,” Baby Matt let his gaze fall slowly to the ground.  

“I know,” Foggy said. But he said it before he really processed what Baby Matt was saying. Was this what Karen had been meaning, before? Baby Matt reflecting Adult Matt’s emotions and relationships? How was Foggy supposed to take Baby Matt’s statement? Should he take the statement? Maybe he should just ignore it, actually. Forget about it.  

“I wike Fank,” Baby Matt repeated. “An’ I fink big me wikes Fank, too.”  

“Yeah, you like a lot of people,” Foggy hazarded.  

“Nooooo,” Baby Matt disagreed. He looked up at Foggy with the kind of look that was usually reserved for people who had grown a second head.  

Foggy didn’t get a chance to ask Baby Matt about that, though, because Castle had returned and was half-shoving two people into Matt’s apartment, muttering to himself.  

Foggy’s first impression was “costumes,” which was bad enough. I mean. This was Matt’s apartment and, if Castle had been checking the roof, these two costumes had to have been up there, for whatever reason.  

Foggy’s second impression was “Spider-Man” and “Deadpool.”  

“What’s going on?” Foggy squeaked. He was more concerned about Deadpool than he was Spider-Man, but unlike with how Foggy hadn’t known Matt hung out with an Avenger (Hawkeye), Foggy did actually know that Matt hung out with Spider-Man and Deadpool. He also knew that Spidey referred to the three of them as “Team Red,” because Matt had told him that much.  

“Found nosey ones up on the roof,” Castle scoffed. He turned back to the side table and performed the actions to retrieve the gun, but in reverse. It was at least as good as habit, by the habituality of his movements.  

That was just another thing that Foggy wasn’t sure how to process.  

Deadpool had immediately clamboured over to and then up onto the kitchen island counter. Foggy both was and wasn’t surprised when Deadpool spread himself across the island counter, in order to do an overdramatic pose. The pose itself was somewhere between “old timey heroine on a fainting couch” and “draw me like one of your French girls.”  

“And you brought them here?” Foggy squeaked.  

“Of the options available, it seemed the wisest,” Castle said. He didn’t look at all thrilled about it.  

Any moment, a nosy neighbour could have caught the heroes on the roof. And the wanted mass murderer. Which was all very well, but Foggy still didn’t think Castle should have brought the heroes into Matt’s apartment. Obviously, there were the secret identity related reasons to consider, but there was also the fact that Matt was three and vulnerable.  

Foggy took a subtle step in front of Baby Matt. Matt peeked around him, though, curious.  

“Look, Spidey! I’m a snack!” Deadpool called over.  

Spider-Man crossed his arms, sighing. “Seems legit, DP. And less invasive or inappropriate than usual. But you know how Double D feels about... you know. Food surfaces.”  

“DP,” Deadpool giggled. “But I’m a snack, so the food rule can suck it, this time.”  

Baby Matt giggled a little and re-hid behind Foggy. He seemed to have avoided the two heroes’ joint attention, at least for the moment. Foggy hoped that the two of them wouldn’t notice Baby Matt at all, and be off on their way in no time.  

Spider-Man's mask lenses squinted at Deadpool (Foggy thought that was fascinating and creepy, in equal measures, but was pretty sure that the effect was mechanical, at least, which was less disturbing than his initial impression had been, however long ago). The mask lenses widened back out as he sighed. Foggy got the impression that Spider-Man was rolling his eyes. He couldn’t be sure, what with the mask, though. “Fine,” Spider-Man said, “we’ve got more important things to worry about, anyway, like—”  

“And... lunch!” Deadpool sat up and clapped his hands, once, loud and exaggerated. It was framed like some kind of reference, but Foggy didn’t know it. (Nor should he have, since the reference was from the behind-the-scenes of an X-Men movie, from another universe, wherein Raven Darkholme was less actual shapeshifter and more played by an actress pretending to be a shapeshifter.)  

Deadpool then rolled off the island – slamming face-first onto the ground on the far side of it – then stood and skittered over to Matt’s fridge, which he then helped himself to. The entitlement of the man was, frankly, astounding! Not that Foggy was brave enough to tell Deadpool, of all people, that he couldn’t raid Matt’s fridge.  

Foggy shook himself out of his mild stupor,   

“Why are you two here?” Foggy demanded. He tried to sound all professional and business-y, but probably came off more nervous and confused. He snuck a glance over at Castle, but Castle didn’t seem to be overly engaged in the presence of Spider-Man and Deadpool. He just leaned up against the wall, beside the door, crossed his arms, and watched the room.  

“The Devil stood us up!” Deadpool put a dramatic hand to his forehead, leaning back into a half-swoon. Then, with no regard for the tone of his previous words or actions, Deadpool swung around, looking about himself with purpose. “Oh. Are we back online? Rough luck on the writer, the computer turning off like that. At least the document saved! It would probably suck if he’d had to rewrite the last scene, huh?”  

“What?” Foggy asked.  

There was more Baby Matt giggles at that, but not from right behind Foggy, which meant the kid was wandering.  

Awesome.  

Foggy didn’t feel like he should let Deadpool and Spider-Man out of his sight, even to look for Baby Matt, though. Castle was right there, anyway, so Baby Matt probably wouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble. Hopefully.  

“Don’t mind him,” Spider-Man said quickly. He sounded like a kid (which Foggy immediately resolved to ignore, for his own sanity). “DP likes to ‘break the fourth wall’ sometimes. You get used to it.”  

“Wh—? No, never mind. What do you mean the Devil stood you up? What does that have to do with you being here?” Foggy needed Excedrin if Deadpool was going to be hanging around. In the meantime, though, he resolved to ignore the mercenary.  

(Oh god, it was like a bad joke – a mass murderer, a mercenary, and a mutant spider kid walk into a blind man’s apartment—)  

“Oh, well. Daredevil was supposed to meet up with us, tonight. We had a thing, ya know?” Spider-Man grinned at Foggy, bright as a beam of sunshine. Except that his face was entirely covered and the things that indicated he was smiling were the tilt of his head, the raise of his shoulder, and the squint of his mask lenses, not a visible smile. And, of course, the warmth of it – somehow obvious in spite of the fabric between Foggy and the kid’s face.  

“What? Why?” Foggy asked.  

“A case!” Spider-Man said. “I’d tell you more, Mr. Nelson, Sir, but I’m not sure if that would be a good idea. It’s not that I don’t trust you – I know Double D trusts you, and that’s good enough for me, after all – but it’s kind of an in-progress thing.”  

“But he was planning to meet up with Hawkeye, today?”  

“Oh, yeah. Clint helped get us some information. I coulda done it, but then Mr. Stark would probably want to know why I wanted to know so-and-so and what I was gonna do with it and so on and so on. He can be a real pest if he thinks I’m hiding things from him, maliciously or otherwise. It’s like—I’m twenty-two, you don’t have to keep an eye on my every mood, you know? I graduated college ages ago, I have my own place, I pay taxes—”  

“You’re how old?” Foggy asked. He hadn’t intended to interrupt, but. But, seriously? There was no way this kid was that old.  

“What?”  

“You gotta be, like, fourteen,” Foggy said.  

“What?!” Spider-Man sounded mildly stricken.  

Deadpool cooed. “Spidey, he thinks you’re a baby!” He was ignored.  

“Sixteen, at most,” Foggy pressed.  

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been doing this for eight years! How the heck could I be sixteen, Mr. Nelson?”  

That... was a good point.  

Foggy nodded slowly. “I mean. Second Spider-Man? Maybe?”  

“Wh. There’s. There’s actively two Spider-Mans, right now. The other one is in a completely different outfit, sure, but. Wait, no, three – I guess my clone probably counts—”  

Foggy checked out, with a mental brake, gear-shift, and reverse the heck out of there. Clones. No thanks. Matt being a small child was more than enough for one day. More than enough for the whol year, actually.  

“I think you broke him, baby boy,” Deadpool wandered over, a sandwich in hand and his mask rolled up to his nose so that he could eat it.  

Foggy had no idea where in the fridge Deadpool would have found some of the makings for what looked like an Italian club sandwich, though. Matt’s fridge was in a near-constant state of semi-barrenness. Not that it particularly mattered, in the moment. It was just one more oddity on the mountainous pile of oddities that Foggy was dealing with.  

“Oh, sorry,” Spider-Man grinned, somehow conveying his bashfulness with the weirdly emotive mask lenses, and rubbed the back of his neck.  

“Okay, so,” Foggy reached for something, anything. He knew there was something important and unresolved, yet, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, what with the minor about-face he’d had to do, mentally, when he’d tripped into more “weird superhero stuff” territory. And where had Baby Matt wandered off to? “So...”  

“Maybe this scene would go smoother if the writer wasn’t eating pizza at the same time,” Deadpool muttered.  

"Deadpool,” Spider-Man sighed.  

Castle seemed to be muttering about shooting Deadpool, but how that wouldn’t be so much “cathartic” as it would be a waste of a bullet, thanks to Deadpool’s insane healing factor. When Foggy glanced over, he could see that Castle had Baby Matt on his hip, and was muttering to Baby Matt, who giggled back at him. That, at least, solved the “where is Baby Matt?” mystery.  

Deadpool apparently hadn’t finished.  

“What? He keeps pausing between sentences to take bites of pizza! It’s no wonder Foggy can’t remember what he was going to say! It’s not ever real pizza, it’s a flatbread and bell pepper sham, Spidey!” Deadpool motioned vaguely toward the corner of the room. Nothing was there, besides a cobweb. A single, solitary strand of cobweb. “No one cares about the cobweb, Zack—”  

Not that there was any reason for Deadpool to take such special notice of the cobweb.  

Foggy had no idea what was going on with Deadpool and, frankly, he was a bit afraid to ask.  

“Oh, real subtle. It’s gonna take a lot more to get me back on track, short-stuff...!”  

“Deadpool, let’s say there is a writer,” Spider-Man hissed.  

“Oh, using Baby Boy. Smart.” Deadpool motioned like he was watching “the writer,” or whatever, but because he was still facing the corner with the cobweb, it just looked like he was doing his whole ‘I got my eye on you’ to said cobweb,  

Spider-Man cleared his throat. “Do you really want to antagonize them? If this is a story, the way you sometimes reference it being, then that means the writer could decide to kill you off. Or-or remove your mouth!”  

“Oof, been there. That has to be the weirdest interpretation they’ve done of me, too. But hey, Ryan Reynolds! Can you imagine if he’d dedicated that much love an effort to Green Lantern, instead of lil ol’ me? And then he got to do the Me movie and play me again!”  

Yeah, Foggy definitely needed some Excedrin.  

“DP,” Spider-Man sounded like he was speaking through a strained smile, gritted teeth and all. “C’mon, dude, let’s stay in the present for a bit. You can tell me about the weird other-universe movies some other time.”  

Deadpool put his hands up in surrender.  

Spider-Man turned back to Foggy. “Was there something else?”  

“Why are you... here ,” Foggy said. He didn’t quite manage the right tone, to make it a question, however.  

“You guys are lucky I decided not to be confusing and comment, mid-scene, when the writer was backed up to add to things after-the-fact. Imagine how confusing that could have gotten! You guys should totally thank me. I accept cash or kisses from Spidey.”  

“I’m broke,” Spider-Man responded absently. “Do you mean, like, here-here, Mr. Nelson? Here in the apartment? Or, like. Wider ‘why do you exist’? Or something in the middle.”  

“Here-here,” Foggy motioned at Deadpool and Spider-Man. “What are the two of you doing in this apartment?”  

“Oh, we wanted to make sure Mr. Daredevil wasn’t injured or anything. But DP threw his phone into the East River, and mine’s out of juice, so we thought it would be faster to come here!” Spider-Man said.  

“Because... you know that Matt’s friends with Daredevil?” Foggy tried weakly. He wasn’t going to touch the “phone in the river” thing.  

Spider-Man gave him a confused smile, glanced at Castle (who didn’t do more than shrug at him and shift Baby Matt to his other hip), then returned his gaze to Foggy. “No? Or. Yes. As much as someone can be their own friend, I suppose. But given the amount of dumpsters we’ve dragged him out of in the past month alone—”  

“Quick, make up an arbitrary number, writer man!” Deadpool cut in. He nodded to himself, pretending to be very sage. “I’m getting a ‘six.’ Six dumpsters.”  

“Okay... anyway. Given the amount of dumpsters we’ve pulled him out of in the past month, alone, I’d think he’s not the best friend for himself, really,” Spider-Man said.  

Foggy felt his heart dropping into his stomach. “Oh. You, um. Know.”  

“Ohh,” Spider-Man hissed in through his teeth. “Sorry, I guess I thought you’d know who knew n’ stuff. Which is silly. I doubt MJ knows every single hero-community friend I have. Let alone which ones know my secret ID and which don’t, ya know?”  

“Dude, names,” Deadpool said. Then: “Hey, I think the writer forgot I was eating a sandwich. Where’d that go?”  

“It’s fine. Daredevil trusts him,” Spider-Man gave a stilted, uncertain shrug and glanced from Deadpool, back to Foggy.  

“How do you… do you know who Daredevil is? Why would he tell you that?” Foggy blinked at the two of them, gaze going from Spider-Man to Deadpool and then back again. It almost mirrored the same back and forth Spider-Man had done, a moment before.  

“Oh, uh. It was kind of an emergency type thing?” Spider-Man reached up, as if to pat the top of his head or something, and then.  

And then, quite suddenly, Foggy was  looking at the warmest pair of smiling hazel eyes, just the side of golden-brown, as Spider-Man offered him a proper smile, maskless and messy-haired and so, so, so very young. So very young. Like, yeah, Foggy definitely didn’t think that this kid could be twenty-two. There was no way.  

“Oh my god,” Foggy whispered. Because, oh my god, a hero – one that wasn’t Matt or a publicly known ID, already – was unmasking himself to Foggy. On purpose!  

“Is he writing in a church building, now?” Deadpool muttered, ostensibly to the aforementioned cobweb corner. “Isn’t this a bit gay to be writing in a church building?”  

“Peter Parker,” Spider-Man offered Foggy his hand.  

Absently, and a good measure of horrified, besides, Foggy shook the offered hand. “Franklin Nelson, Esquire,” Foggy said, a bit distantly, “Of the Nelson & Murdock firm. Uh. You can call me Foggy? Most, uh. Most people do.” He continued to shake the kid’s hand, feeling a bit lightheaded. He probably shook Peter Parker’s hand for way too long, but he just smiled back at Foggy as Foggy tried to get his feet back under him.  

“Definitely a church,” Deadpool muttered to himself. Then he turned back to Spider-Man, Peter Parker, and Foggy, mask grinning mouthlessly at both of them. “I’m Wade! Wade Wilson, no esquire.”  

Foggy finally dropped Spider-Man’s hand, only to have his hand then picked up by Deadpool and shaken vigorously.  

“I’d take off my mask, but that’s, like. Nah. My face is a fucking wreck , no one wants to see that!” Deadpool said.  

“’Pool,” Spider-Man sighed. (Peter. His name was Peter. He’d told Foggy his name.)  

“No, no,” Deadpool waved Spider-Man off. “It’s the truth! People get all uncomfortable about the whole street pizza look.” (And his name was Wade. Why had they been so easygoing about giving their names to Foggy?)  

Spider-Man, Peter, pressed his lips into a thin line and visibly debated giving Wade a rebuttal. Instead, he sighed and glanced down at his feet, then glanced back up to smile at Foggy. “So, yeah. It was an emergency. We took his cowl off, right? And DP didn’t recognize him—”  

“What’s there to recognize?” Wade scoffed.  

“—but I remembered the Punisher trial, you know? I recognized him after a bit, and. Like. Yeah. Fair’s fair, though, and he knows who we are, too.”  

Foggy nodded slowly, then glanced back over at Castle. Did they know—? Of course they did. Castle’s name was actually out there. Known. And attached to his laundry list of crimes. (God, what was Matt thinking, having any sort of contact with Castle? Why didn’t he just send the guy to jail? He was a mass murderer!)  

Castle met Foggy’s gaze for a moment.  

Then Deadpool (Wade, his name was Wade) turned on his heel to look at Castle, too. “Oh, hey! Who’s the kid, by the way?” he asked.  

Sp—Peter turned, as well. “If I had to guess...”  

“Yeah,” Castle interrupted. “That’s the big secret.”  

Baby Matt hid his face in Castle’s neck.  

Castle brought a hand up and set it on Baby Matt’s head, as a comforting weight. “Red couldn’t make it to your little meet-up because he’s been fucked over by some truly inconvenient magical mumbo-jumbo.” He rolled his eyes. “And I haven’t had a minute, yet, to start tracking down the little blue freak who did this to him.”  

“That’s really him?” Peter asked.  

“Yeah. Figure he’s three or so,” Castle glanced down at him. In spite of himself, Foggy was sure, Castle’s gaze softened as he looked at Baby Matt. “He’s got his memories, far as we’ve been able to tell. But it’s not just... adult trapped in a kid’s body. He can’t process thirty-odd years of memories correctly. He knows who we are, but I don’t think he knows, exactly, the details of how he knows us, or what each of us are to him.”  

Peter sidled over, though slowly. He looked to Castle for permission, at least twice, before he was standing beside Castle – and the kid was like five-foot-six to Castle’s almost six-foot frame. He smiled tentatively as Castle bounced Baby Matt lightly, to get his attention.  

Baby Matt lifted his head, popping a fat thumb into his mouth, and turned to look at Peter.  

“Hi,” Peter said.  

“Hewwo,” Matt mumbled.  

“I’m Peter! We’re friends.”  

“Noooo,” Baby Matt tilted his head a bit. “You a baby , Peber.”  

Peter laughed.  

--  

Foggy was back at the table, looking over his take-home work things, when Karen returned.  

“Foggy!” she said, as her greeting. She stopped short, just inside the door.  

It was an understandable reaction, really. Over in the living room area, sitting in front of the coffee table and on the floor, Peter and Wade had taken over watching Baby Matt. Peter was especially thrilled with his self-imposed task of keeping Baby Matt entertained, and Wade just kind of seemed happy to be near Peter, if anything.  

“Foggy...?” Karen turned to look at him. She had a duffel bag over her shoulder, probably for overnighting, and a tote bag in her other hand. Foggy couldn’t be sure what the tote bag was for, but they were all aware of the consistently sad state of Matt’s fridge, so Foggy was willing to bet that there were at least a few groceries, stashed away in the tote bag.  

Foggy gave her a helpless shrug. “Hey, Karen,” he said. “Um, this is... this is Spider-Man and Deadpool? They’re. Yeah, they’re friends of Matt’s.”  

“Team Red, right?” Karen walked quietly over to Foggy, eyes darting over to the two men and the toddler every step and a half. “Yeah, I’d heard a few things about them working with, uh. With Daredevil. But you said...?” She trailed off and turned back to Foggy.  

“Yeah. Friends of Matt,” Foggy sighed.  

“I’m Wade!” Wade said.  

“Wade, shh, indoor voice,” Peter laughed. He turned to smile and wave over at Karen, the picture of a Good Kid. Albeit a good kid wearing a supersuit. “Hi, I’m Peter.”  

“Karen,” Karen returned. She smiled in that way that crinkled her nose and seemed a mite suspicious, but was somehow completely genuine, anyway. “I work with Foggy and Matt.”  

“Yeah, I’ve heard a bit about you,” Peter said.  

“Peber!” Baby Matt stood up and put a hand on either one of Peter’s shoulders. “Peber, pway wiff me.”  

“I am, I am,” Peter turned back to grin at him.  

Foggy beckoned Karen a bit closer, which she acknowledged by sidling closer and leaning in a bit. Foggy cleared his throat. “Castle left,” he murmured. “Just—just for a bit. He’s gonna start his investigation, touch base with some contacts, all that. Then he said he’d be back here.”  

Karen nodded slowly and leaned over to set the tote bag down, followed by the duffel bag.. “And... he got Spider-Man and Deadpool to entertain Matt while he was gone...?”  

“Sort of? Um. Spider-Man volunteered them both for it,” Foggy glanced over at the two men and the toddler-sized version of Matt. “I think knowing that Spider-Man and Deadpool were going to be hanging around helped him to decide that he could head out to do... that.”  

“Yeah,” Karen pushed some hair behind her ear. “Does... Matt know that he left? Frank, I mean.”  

“Yeah. Castle sat him down and told him that he was gonna go for a bit, but that he’d be back around toddler bedtime. Which a toddler-sized Matt should be going to bed around, because he’s back in that ‘still growning’ stage and all. God, I’m rambling. Sorry, Karen.”  

“No, it’s fine,” Karen pulled out the chair nearest to Foggy and sat herself down in it. “And you believed Frank?”  

Foggy shrugged. “What’s the point of lying about something like that? Besides, as attached as Baby Matt seems to be to Castle, Castle seems almost as attached right back. And I’d think it was super weird if. Ya know. If Castle hadn’t... lost people.”  

“His kids,” Karen nodded slowly.  

“Yeah.”  

Baby Matt screeched in laughter. A quick glance told Foggy that Peter had done something silly, in their playtime, specifically to make the kid laugh.  

“You know, I’m not sure where the toys came from,” Foggy motioned over at the three of them. “I mean. I think the rubber ducks were joke gifts that Matt had lying around the apartment. But the silly little red-faced action figure definitely wasn’t.”  

“Oh, that’s Red Hood. He’s a comic book vigilante,” Karen glanced over, smiling. “I saw it in the store the other day and just, ya know. It made me think of Frank.”  

“What? Why?”  

“Well, uh. Red Hood? His whole thing is ‘doing what Batman can’t’ and—”  

“Batman! I know that one.”  

Karen smothered a laugh. “Yeah, he’s pretty popular. Like Iron Man, without the rocket boots. But yeah. Red Hood does what Batman can’t. He kills the bad guys, the ones that the system refuses to take care of, over and over again. The ones that the system lets back out onto the streets, to reoffend—”  

“Karen,” Foggy dragged his hands down his face, heavily.  

“What?” Karen’s tone was light, but he could see the defensive line of her shoulders and crossed arms. She smiled through it, though. “The courts can’t do everything. Sometimes there’s need for something else. I know that you don’t get it, and I know that Matt doesn’t get it, but—”  

“It’s murder,” Foggy hissed.  

“The way I see it, it’s more like... when rat traps aren’t enough and you need to call an exterminator.” Karen gave a weak shrug and dropped her gaze to the floor. “Besides, has he killed anyone who hasn’t deserved it?”  

“Everyone deserves a fair trial—”  

“Most of the people Frank’s killed have had a fair trial. Have had ten fair trials. And they’re still out on the streets, somehow, be it because of some mistake on the part of the evidence handling, or a good argument from a lawyer, or just... you know how it can be. You know how the police were, not that long ago.” Karen picked her eyes up off the floor and glanced at Foggy through her hair.  

Foggy clenched his teeth against his kneejerk response, then curled his lips inward, thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I get it. But I don’t like it.”  

“Yeah,” Karen motioned back to Baby Matt, Deadpool, and Spider-Man. She cleared her throat gently. “But uh. Yeah. I got the action figure. For Frank. I wanted to just... I wanted to show him that—that. I don’t know. That he wasn’t up against the world, I guess? That some people believed in what he was doing, as well as his methods? Because I know you don’t. And I know Matt doesn’t. And I know it weighs on Frank, sometimes.”  

“Weighs on him?” Foggy side-eyed Karen.  

“Yeah, weighs on him. Wouldn’t it weigh on you if... if the only people you hung around thought you were in the wrong? All the time?” Karen side-eyed him right back. “If I had a boyfriend who thought that my being an investigative reporter was, like, the wrong path? And I woke up with him and his disapproval, every day? I think it would start to weigh me down.”  

“Well, sure, but that’s a partner, right?” Foggy said.  

Karen looked at him for a long moment, then turned away. “Sure.”  

Foggy turned his attention back to the two superheroes and Baby Matt. Deadpool (Wade, Wade) seemed to be using the “Red Hood” action figure to monologue something ridiculous, which kept setting Matt off into fits of giggles.  

“Oh no, Mr. Hood! You can’t do that,” Peter said, in an affected, nasally voice in a higher register than his own. He had his rubber duck bounce forward, much like those weird animated vegetables in those VeggieTales things that Theo used to watch on... Foggy couldn’t even remember what channel. Peter bounced the duck right up to Wade’s Red Hood figure. “You’re our friend!”  

“Friend, shmend! It’s a Yahtzee world out there, and it’s always gonna be a bit dicey, Mr. Duck!” Wade said.  

“What the heck is going on?” Foggy mumbled.  

“I have no idea, but it seems to be entertaining Matt, at least,” Karen covered her smile up with the palm of one hand.  

Matt had just laughed hard enough for him to tip backwards and onto his back. He kicked his feet out, still laughing at Peter and Wade.  

Peter stopped voicing the duck to turn and smile over at Matt, then he brought a gloved hand down onto Matt’s stomach to tickle him gently. “What’s so funny, kiddo?” he asked. “You think we’re funny?”  

“Yeah!” Matt squealed through his laughter.  

“It’s nice of Spider-Man and Deadpool to help watch him,” Karen said.  

“I didn’t ask them to,” Foggy said.  

“No, I didn’t think you would. It’s just. I know they didn’t have to? And here they are,” Karen shrugged. “It’s nice of them. I feel like most people, knowing that there’s a toddler involved in a situation, might hang around for a few minutes, but would ultimately leave, avoiding any responsibility over a kid that isn’t theirs.”  

“I suppose,” Foggy gave another weak shrug.  

Karen nodded quietly.  

Foggy had grown pretty accustomed to her thinking face and noticed that that was what she was falling into, lips pressed into a thin line. But then she was smiling softly to herself. “What?” Foggy asked. “I mean – sorry. I mean, what is it? What are you smiling about, now?”  

“I just think that, someday, Peter and Wade will probably make pretty good parents,” Karen said.  

“Oh, man, I don’t know about Deadpool,” Foggy muttered.  

“No, maybe not on his own. But I think they really balance each other out, you know?” Karen turned his smile back to Foggy. “They’re good together. Wade has more of a reason to be responsible, when he’s with Peter. And Peter—I dunno. He seems happy, though?”  

“Wait, do you mean, like, together?” Foggy asked.  

“Yeah.”  

“Karen, I don’t think they’re—” Foggy glanced over at the men in question, who were still absorbed in their playtime with Baby Matt. He lowered his voice, anyway, when he turned back to Karen. “I don’t think they’re together.”  

“No, not yet,” Karen agreed.  

“What? Womanly intuition?” Foggy asked.  

Karen rolled her eyes, more amused than offended (but also obviously a bit offended). “No, Foggy. Reporter’s nose,” she touched her nose, briefly. “Just look at Wade. He’s constantly looking to Peter for approval. I bet, under that mask, he’s all doe-eyed, too. And Peter? He’s young, you know. He probably worries that Wade considers him a kid, or too young, and it pushes him to try and... prove himself. And to connect to Wade on deeper and deeper levels, where he can. I know I haven’t watched them for long, today, but I’ve seen them from afar, too, you know? And Peter’s drive to prove himself and connect to Wade is almost funny. He’s been practically an adult for most of his childhood – that's what growing up on the poverty line does, sometimes – and he’s so much more mature than the people he’s around. When people talk about finding a ‘more adult’ adult, they’re talking about finding someone like Peter, who’s had so much responsibility for so long that it’s become second nature.”  

“That’s... a lot,” Foggy felt his eyebrows knit, though he tried to keep a bit more of a neutral expression. “How would you even begin to notice things like that in the last, like, fifteen minutes? Or from far-off glimpses? Are you sure you’re not just making assumptions?”  

“Some of it’s gut instinct,” Karen shrugged. “And some of it’s assumption. But I think I’m... close, at least. I think I’m on the correct track.”  

“And this same track leads you to believe that the two of them are destined?” Foggy deadpanned.  

“Well, no. Not ‘destined.’ I just... think that there’s a spark there and, if it’s allowed to grow, it’ll become something beautiful, shared between two people who complement each other,” Karen shrugged again.  

“I think—”  

“Yeah,” Karen gave a short laugh.  

“Agree to disagree?” Foggy smiled back at her.  

“I think that’s best.”  

“I don’t mean to—” Foggy started.  

Karen closed her eyes and grimaced, but in that way that told you that she was trying to hold back a grin. “No, it’s fine. I get it. You feel like my take on the situation is baseless. I feel like I have a solid foundation. That’s fine. Friends don’t always have to agree, Fog.”  

“Yeah,” Foggy breathed out. “Right, yeah, definitely.”  

Karen smiled at him again. “Anyway, I’m here for the next shift, obviously. You’ve been here all day. I think you’ve earned a rest.”  

“I mean, I’m fine,” Foggy said.  

“I know you are. And you’re doing great! But I’m here, now, and I think you deserve that break, Fog,” Karen said. “Besides, you know I like to pull my weight. Let me take over from here, yeah? I’ll take the overnight – because I know you’re not comfortable leaving Frank in charge – and you can come back in the morning.”  

“I mean, we don’t even know if Castle is coming back, tonight,” Foggy said.  

“Oh, he is.”  

“How can you be sure?”  

“Well, he probably promised Matt, right? I mean. He probably promised Baby Matt, rather. And Frank takes his word pretty seriously. He’ll be back. As soon as he can, which will be as soon as his business for the day – or, uh, night – is wrapped up.”  

Foggy sighed. “I figured.” He’s rather hoped that Castle wouldn’t return, though. Whatever Karen thought about The Punisher, Foggy still didn’t trust him. If it weren’t for Baby Matt’s attachment to Castle, Foggy would have insisted that he and their other friends were more than prepared enough for the task of taking care of Baby Matt. He would have insisted that they didn’t need Castle’s help at all, that he could just go, whenever.  

But...  

Well, Baby Matt was incredibly attached to him. If Foggy hadn’t been convinced from the start, he would have been convinced by Baby Matt freaking out, when he woke from his nap.  

“Oh, uh, before I go,” Foggy said. Because, speaking of Baby Matt freaking out when he thought Castle was gone... “What did you mean? I mean, like, this morning?”  

“Shouldn’t you be packing up your papers?”  

Foggy rolled his eyes, then meandered over to the dining room table. Karen was gracious enough to follow behind him, making her easy to keep talking to. “What did you mean? You know, when you were talking about Baby Matt and Adult Matt and how Baby Matt was reflecting Adult Matt’s emotions and relationships? Because I don’t get it.”  

“It’s not really my place to spell it out,” Karen said.  

“I mean, that’s pretty ominous,” Foggy forced a laugh and glanced over to Baby Matt and his impromptu playmates, again.  

Matt had taken over the Red Hood figure and seemed to be giving his own approximation of Deadpool’s previous monologue, interspersed with a lot of baby giggling. Wade had another figure in hand, Foggy thought it might be a Batman figure, actually, and was grumbling nonsensically in response to Matt’s Red Hood monologuing. Peter just watched them both, fondly, with his rubber duck in hand (but momentarily forgotten).  

Foggy turned back to Karen. “You mean how he’s clingy with Castle, right?”  

“I mean, yeah,” Karen said, slowly. “In part.”  

“Do you mean, like... do you mean how he can’t let go of his own moralizing, with Castle?” Foggy hazarded.  

Karen snorted, then covered her mouth in embarrassment. “I, uh—I. No, Foggy,” she dropped her hand again. “That’s not quite what I meant. How about we table this for later, though, huh? If you wait much longer, you’ll have to take a cab all the way home, instead of grabbing a train.”  

Foggy groaned. “I can’t afford a cab.”  

“I know,” Karen said, sympathetically. “Can I help you round up your things to go, or...?”  

“No, no, I’ve got it,” Foggy waved her off, then set about pushing his papers into a single haphazard stack, throwing a few more important pages onto his laptop keyboard before closing said laptop, then shoved everything into his briefcase. “Sometimes I think I’m less of a real-life lawyer and more of a stereotype of a lawyer, but like, from an early nineties movie.”  

Karen laughed.  

Foggy tossed her a quick smile, pleased that his joke had landed well, then returned his attention to making sure everything was in his briefcase. Everything accounted for – including a flyaway paper that Karen fetched from under the table for him – Foggy closed his briefcase and locked it. “I could have sworn more of our shit was digitized!”  

“We send out physical invoices, still,” Karen said, half apologetic. “A lot of that still comes in as paper, and it’s part of the workload, you know? I mean, I can handle more of that, if you guys just pass that stuff onto me – and as long as it’s not something in braille – but that’s probably, you know—”  

“Yeah, it’s why there’s so much paper,” Foggy sighed.  

Karen nodded and followed him to the door.  

“You’ll call me up if anything happens, right?” Foggy turned and tried to play it off as mere curiousity, but he knew he was being obvious about his anxiety. If he didn’t already know that he was being obvious about his anxiety, the comforting smile that Karen gave him would have convinced him of it.  

“I promise, Foggy,” Karen playfully crossed her heart. It was, no doubt, an attempt to make Foggy feel more at-east. And it worked. “I’ll call you the moment anything changes, even if it’s in the middle of the night, okay?”  

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” Foggy nodded. He felt more and more like one of those bobbing bird things. Drinking birds! He felt more and more like a drinking bird, with its stupid blue top hat and stupid, round red face, and extra stupid red feet. “Am I drinking bird, Karen?”  

Karen smiled confusedly at him.  

“No, never mind. Sorry,” Foggy laughed at himself. “Just... frazzled. You know how it can be.”  

Karen’s confused smile smoothed out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Foggy. We can discuss who will be in the office for office hours, then, okay? Unless you want to talk it over, over the phone?”  

“No, we can do that tomorrow.”  

“Rock-paper-scissors? Or, rather, ro-sham-bo?” Karen laughed.  

“It’s as good a deciding method as any,” Foggy shrugged. Karen just wouldn’t let go that Foggy called it by something else, could she?  

And then they managed their final goodbyes.  

--  

Foggy arrived back to Matt’s apartment the next day.  

It was probably too much to hope that everything had resolved itself overnight, but that didn’t stop him from crossing his fingers as he fetched the spare key and let himself in.  

It turned out that the tote bag that Karen had brought with her, upon her return to Matt’s apartment the previous night, contained an air mattress (or maybe the duffel bag, Foggy couldn’t actually be sure). Smart move, really. Even after all that time, Matt’s couch was still the same old piece of crap it had always been. Foggy would choose the floor over the couch, any day, if he had to sleep over at Matt’s place. So, yeah. Smart of her.  

The air mattress was pushed up against the far wall, under the offending window that had given Matt such a good deal on his apartment. Rather, the obnoxiously lit-up billboard outside the window was what brought the property’s value down, but the window cinched it. Spare pillow, sheets, and blanket were on the mattress, but done up nice in a facsimile of making the bed. In the middle of the borrowed blanket, though, Baby Matt sat with a book (that must have belonged to Karen or Castle, since it wasn’t in braille).  

Foggy deflated.  

Baby Matt was still Baby Matt, then. Nothing had solved itself overnight, much as he had hoped that it would. Nothing was ever that easy though, right? And maybe Castle had something.  

“Foggy!” Karen popped up from her place at the dining room table.  

Foggy startled into looking at her, and then around at the rest of the apartment. “Uh, hey! Hey, Karen.” Foggy walked over and allowed Karen to draw him into a hug.  

“How’d you sleep?” Karen asked.  

And, just. Really? Small talk? “Uh. Fine. You know me. When I’m out, I’m out like a rock,” Foggy said.  

On the other side of the island counter, Castle was at the stove again, just like the first time that Foggy had entered the apartment, the day before. This time, it looked like Castle had busied himself with making pancakes. A stack of them were already piled up to Castle’s left.  

“How’d you sleep?” Foggy forced his gaze back to Karen.  

“Oh, fine.” Karen withdrew a step. “Frank brought an air mattress back with him. He meant it for himself, I’m pretty sure, but he gave it to me after Matt coerced him into staying with him.” She laughed.  

Foggy didn’t laugh with her. Actually, he found that mildly alarming, if anything. Baby Matt had slept in the same room as The Punisher? Seriously? Like, yeah, Foggy didn’t think Castle was going to intentionally hurt Baby Matt or anything, but—come on. That still couldn’t be safe...! Foggy swallowed back his alarm. “Oh, cool,” he said. It sounded weak and reluctant, even to himself.  

Karen kindly ignored it, though. “Frank also brought back some storybooks! Matt’s been sitting around, looking through them, all morning.” She turned to smile softly at Baby Matt.  

Baby Matt had a consternated, thoughtful look on his face.  

“He knows he can read. He’s been trying to wrangle the whole ‘toddler brain’ thing into cooperating so that he can do that. I think, maybe, he’d have an easier time with braille, maybe? Because he’s been reading in braille so much longer than, you know, words. I mean. Visible words.” Karen shrugged.  

Foggy looked over at Baby Matt again. And realized that the kid was in a little sweatshirt and Baby-Matt-sized sweatshirt. And socks that fit him! “Oh, he’s not wearing his shirt-dress, anymore.”  

“Oh! Yeah, Frank got the size off of Claire, I guess, and stopped for a few things for Baby Matt to wear. You should have seen him try to convince Matty into a pair of pajamas, though. You’d think he’d been asked to give up his right hand or something, with the kind of resistance he put up,” Karen’s smile turned mildly exasperated. “Matt won in the end. He got to wear the shirt as his pajamas.”  

“Uh-huh,” Foggy nodded slowly. “And then he slept in the same room as the Punisher.”  

“Don’t get hung up on it,” Karen brushed him off. “Frank left the door open, all night. And he had a little night light outside the room, so that it was easier to get to the bathroom. He was a very respectful roommate, even though his roommate for the night was a toddler. I even heard both of them get up in the middle of the night, so that Frank could help Baby Matt use the toilet.”  

“I just don’t trust him,” Foggy sighed.  

“I know,” Karen said. “But I do. And Matt does! You can trust us, at least, right?”  

Foggy scratched behind his ear. “I guess.”  

“Great,” Castle cut in and placed a plate of pancakes beside them, on the table Karen had been sitting and working at, with her investigative reporter extracurriculars.  

Foggy jumped about a foot in the air. He hadn’t even heard Castle approach.  

“You eat, yet?” Castle asked. He tried to keep it gruff and uncaring, but the sentiment was just friendly enough that he couldn’t exactly play it off as a random aside. “Because there’s more’n enough pancakes if you’re looking for breakfast.”  

“Uh...” Foggy said. Very eloquently.  

“Red!” Castle called over.  

Baby Matt looked up, immediately, and lit up when he saw Castle and the pancakes. “Fank!” he responded.  

“Tim to eat, kid. Wrap it up,” Castle said.  

Baby Matt immediately snapped the thick fairy tale book closed and shoved it to the side, then slid off the air mattress (with the customary balloon-ish sounding squeak from the air mattress, itself), and pitter-pattered his way over to the three of them.  

“We got the real syrup n’ everything, thanks to your friend Karen,” Castle said.  

Baby Matt whooped in joy, then scrambled up into his chair. “I wuv syrup,” he said.  

“Mm-hm,” Castle helped Matt to scramble into his chair, then affixed a bandana around his neck, like a bib. “Also got some berries if ya want,” Castle mumbled.  

“Wasberries?”  

“Of course.”  

“Bwueberries?”  

“Yeah, naturally. Karen got the whole list, even strawberries.”  

“Nanners?”  

“Bananas ain’t berries, kid.”  

Baby Matt pouted. “No nanners?”  

“Didn’t say that. Just that they’re not berries. Yeah, Karen got bananas. Didn’t ya, Karen?” Castle turned to look at her. The attempt at impassivity and detachment was still there, but it was pretty easy to see just how wrapped around Baby Matt’s little fingers he was.  

“’Course,” Karen grinned at him sweetly. Which, naturally, was one of her more troublemaking expressions. Nothing like a doe-eyed smile to get people to bring their guards down, and all that. “I adhered to the letter of your shopping list, Frank.”  

Castle scowled at her, briefly.  

“Fank!” Baby Matt gasped. “You gotted me the berries?”  

“No, Karen got them. I just sent her a list of the things I knew you liked,” Castle turned back to him. “Was up to her if she got it or not.  

Baby Matt clapped his fat little hands, not even listening to Castle anymore. “I knew it! Fank wuvs me!”  

For a moment Castle looked torn between being the mushiest being alive (much less in the room) and wanting the ground to swallow him up on the spot. A complex set of emotions seemed to pass through him, and Foggy just wasn’t well-versed enough in the Castle-isms to get a bead on what was really going on in his head.  

“Sure, Red,” Castle sighed, finally. It was a bit of a blow to the whole tough guy exterior he had going on, but you couldn’t exactly say anything else to a three-year-old with dimples that stood out like little sunbeams when he smiled. Much, much less when that sunbeam smile was directed at you. Foggy could almost sympathize with Castle’s situation.  

...except that Castle, for all his good bits, was still a mass-murdering psychopath and Foggy was pretty set on not having any sympathies for a mass-murdering psychopath (beyond the wife-and-kids... thing).  

Foggy zoned back in to find Castle cutting Baby Matt’s pancakes into little, toddler-bite-sized squares.  

“You’re really good with him,” Karen said.  

“Nah,” Castle muttered. “Nah... just. Muscle memory, let’s call it. Been through the toddler stage twice, with—Lisa. Juniour.” He cleared his throat mildly. “Not hard to remember some of the basics.” He contradicted himself, in Foggy’s opinion, when he walked back into the kitchen area, only to return with a little bowl of berries and cut banana, already ready to go, and poured it over Matt’s pancake bites, before the syrup. In his other hand, he carried a stack of four empty plates and four forks, which set him firmly in the role of host, whether he liked it or not (and it seemed likely that he did not, in fact, like it.  

(Foggy barely knew where Matt’s plates were, though, due to how often the two of them would eat takeout together, over making something themselves, and how much easier cleanup was if they just didn’t involve dishes. Why did Castle know where Matt’s dishes were? Was he snooping?)  

Castle rearrived at the table and divided the plates and forks among the four of them, almost absentmindedly, after setting the bowl of berries down next to Baby Matt.  

Matt squealed in pleasure when he noticed the small, portioned bowl of berries. It was a high, toddler screech and Foggy suddenly wondered what Matt’s neighbours thought of the whole thing. The people in and out of Matt’s apartment all times of day and night, the toddler noises, the sudden consistency of cooked meals (if that was a thing they could notice)? All of it.  

“Help yourselves,” Castle plopped himself down in the chair next to Baby Matt, scooted it closer to be within arm’s reach of the kid, and then helped Matt to hold his fork.  

Matt gave the fork a consternated look and tried to stab a pancake piece. He nicked the edge of the square and didn’t manage to get anything on the fork. The look of consternation turned into a look of betrayal. “I know forks,” he muttered.  

Karen giggled, what with how forks, sans the letter R, sounded like a very inappropriate word for a baby to be using.  

“You sure do,” Castle helped him to adjust his grip. “You jus’ need a bit of practice, kiddo. No worries.”  

“No wuwwies,” Baby Matt echoed. He tried again.  

Castle busied himself filling his own plate, which Karen followed the example of. Foggy took a long extra moment, trying to process through all the new information – Castle sending a shopping list to Karen, the shopping list he sent to Karen specifically containing food items that he knew Matt likes, Castle knowing where everything in the kitchen was, Castle’s apparent comfort in Matt’s apartment – but, once Foggy was satisfied that he actually didn’t know shit and that it was time to shelve the information for later inspection – Foggy helped himself to the pancakes, too.  

Foggy really wanted to hate the pancakes.  

Castle was, however, really good at making pancakes. They were cooked perfectly, they tasted perfect, and Foggy couldn’t pretend to hate the pancakes and also get a second helping.  

“Did you make these from scratch?” Karen asked.  

Castle glanced at her with a disapproving frown. Foggy read it as a “very Italian” disapproving frown, though he wasn’t sure that was altogether flattering or sensitive. Castle rolled his eyes. “’Course I made it from scratch. Pancakes are easy, Page. I don’t need a box mix’s help.”  

Karen’s nose wrinkled as she laughed at him.  

“Please, you think Bisquick has anything on homemade pancakes? The fuck did you think the flour was for? Or the buttermilk?”  

Baby Matt gasped theatrically. “Do we need a swear jar, Fank?” he put a hand to his collarbone and metaphorically clutched his pearls.  

“We don’t need two,” Castle scoffed, offhand.  

“Oh, wight.” Baby Matt settled back into his chair. “You owe da jar a dowwar.”  

“You’re the boss,” Castle said.  

“He has a swear jar?” Foggy asked.  

“Sorta. It was a joke. Part of some neighbourly white elephant bullshh... stuff,” Castle turned to glare at Baby Matt, who had a warning look on his face, then turned back to Foggy and Karen. He took his time to take a large bite out of his stack of pancakes, chew that, and swallow before continuing. “Matt isn’t always so severe ‘bout swearing, so it’s usually an injury jar. Dollar for every reasonably preventable injury, five for every reasonably preventable injury he basically caused, himself, by putting himself in harm’s way, intentionally.”  

Foggy whistled. “Must fill up quick!”  

“Thirty bucks a month, minimum,” Castle rolled his eyes. “And that’s just the injuries he can’t talk his way out of paying for. I mean. The man’s a menace. If I’m not there to witness the injury, he’ll try’n claim it’s a reasonably acquired injury, even though we both know there’s no way his ass isn’t jumping in danger’s way every chance he gets.”  

“Is ‘ass’ a bad word?” Baby Matt asked.  

“Sorta,” Castle turned to him. “Why? Gonna bill me for it?”  

Baby Matt hemmed and hawed about it for a minute, then nodded resolutely. “One quarter,” he said.  

“I mean, in that case, you said it, too, kiddo,” Castle said.  

Baby Matt gasped and looked a bit stricken. “Fank, I’m bwoke!”  

“S’alright,” Castle pushed against his chair and dug a hand briefly into one of his pockets. “Here, take this quarter,” he placed it next to Matt’s plate, as he settled back into his seat properly. “But keep your finances in mind for next time, little man. Not sure you can afford to be a little sailor-mouthed baby lawyer.”  

“I would never!” Baby Matt’s hand was back at his collar bone, displaying the pure scandal he felt.  

“’Course,” Castle nodded. He turned back to Foggy and Karen. “Granted, roundabouts now, he’s not exactly using the jar for injury fees, is he? If a swear jar can keep tyke-sized Matt that much more content, why not use it for its intended purpose.”  

“You owe the jar one-twenty-five, so far,” Karen said.  

“Oh, I’m keeping track. He might be three, but I swear he can see into souls and tell if someone didn’t keep their word,” Castle rolled his eyes.  

Foggy nodded in sympathy.  

About halfway through breakfast, though, Foggy frowned at his plate, then back up to Karen and Castle, the latter of which was occupied cutting up a bit more pancake for Baby Matt.  

“Wait,” Foggy said. “Castle, how do you know that Matt has some white elephant swear jar thing?”  

“Because he told me about it?” Castle gave Foggy a mild look, eyebrow raised.  

“And then, what? You told him to make it an injury jar?” Foggy blinked at him, confused.  

“Pretty much. I got pissed because the dumbass took a bullet for me. You’ve seen my getup. It includes body armor. He ended up with a cracked rib for his troubles, and thank ff..” Castle took a steadying breath. He’d been getting worked up, but then caught himself on the almost-swear. He proceeded once he was a bit calmer. “God, I guess. Thank god he wasn’t wearing the pajamas. But I was pissed at him, obviously. My body armor’s better’n his, ya know? Because he’s got the decorative shit going on, and it’s all... I dunno—”  

“Fank,” Baby Matt glared up at him.  

“Two-twenty-five,” Karen whispered.  

“Sorry, kid,” Castle rolled his eyes. He was doing a lot of that, lately. “His suit allows for more movement. Mine allows for more defense against anything not specifically meant to be armor piercing. So yeah, pissed. It was the heat of the moment when I said it – told him that he needed an injury jar, not a swear jar, and he turned it into a joke. Then he turned the joke into the actual thing, as an extension of the joke. So, because he thought it was so funny, I started to enforce it on him. Shoulda seen his face the first time I told him he owed the da—darn, the darn thing seven bucks, five for something avoidable he intentionally put himself in the way of, two for the usual avoidable injuries. It’s been a thing ever since. There. Satisfy ya, Nelson?”  

“I didn’t know you guys spent that much time together,” Foggy frowned. He turned to Karen. “I didn’t know they spent that much time together. Did you?”  

Karen smiled at him and shrugged prettily. That was a yes, then.  

“We’re not exactly hiding anything,” Castle drawled. “Everything’s there if you want it, you just have to use your eyes n’ common sense, Nelson. No one’s obligated to give their life story or anything, but a lot of it is there to see, and you’d see a lot more if you weren’t so willfully blind about some of it. If you’re waiting for someone to spell it out, though, you’re in for a long wait.”  

“What does that mean?” Foggy muttered. He turned back to Castle (seeing that Karen was pretty intent on being no help, at all). “What does that mean?” he repeated.  

Castle didn’t look especially impressed. He stood from the table, abruptly, his plate and fork, and the little berry bowl, in hand. “I’m gonna grab a head start on the dishes. Page, Nelson, figure out which of ya are gonna be hanging around today – rock-paper-scissors it, or whatever – so that I know which of ya I’m leaving in charge of the kid while I go hunt down another lead or so.”  

Castle meandered into the kitchen, after, and started to clean the tableware, then the cooking tools he’d used, then whatever had managed to get on the counter. He was methodical with his cleaning, which reminded Foggy of how Castle probably cleaned a gun, or cleaned bloodstains out of something. Except he was starting to think that his consistent dislike of Castle might somehow be... unfair? That didn’t seem right, given all the guy had done, but there was definitely something unsettled in Foggy, and it had something or other to do with Castle.  

--  

Foggy was stuck at the apartment for the second day in a row. He was starting to think that Karen was cheating at ro-sham-bo or something. He didn’t know how, exactly, someone would cheat at ro-sham-bo, but Karen seemed to be just the kind of clever where she might figure that out.  

Maybe they should flip a coin, if the whole... thing went on much longer. People couldn’t cheat at coin tosses, right?  

Wait.  

Could people cheat at coin tosses?  

Matt, with all his fancy senses, might be able to cheat at a coin toss, maybe? Like. He could possibly use his fancy senses to predict heads or tails, and calling it in the air, or after the toss, could mean he had the advantage? Maybe? It didn’t sound very likely, but Foggy filed it away to ask Matt, on a later date.  

Speaking of Matt, Baby Matt was back on the air mattress, reading – or pretending to read (Foggy wasn’t sure) – the same faerie tale book from earlier.  

“Hey, Matt?” Foggy called over. He hadn’t been at his take-home work for too long, yet, but a short break was probably fine. He’d get back to it, momentarily.  

“Fwoggy!” Baby Matt looked up, grinning wide.  

Foggy wondered if those were baby teeth in his mouth, or not. Like. Could a spell that made Matt so much younger have also given him back something he’d lost? The sight was one thing, right? He had his eyes. But a whole set of teeth?  

Actually. Maybe he didn’t want to know that.  

“Whatcha doin?” Foggy asked.  

“Weading.” Baby Matt lifted the heavy tome to show Foggy.  

“You were reading that before, too, right? Before breakfast? What’s so interesting about it, man?”  

“It’s weasearch,” Baby Matt said, pleased with himself.  

“Research?”  

“Yeh! Tha’s what I said.”  

“What kind of research, uh, sport?” Foggy winced inwardly at the diminutive. He really wasn’t used to kids. Or necessarily good with kids.  

“To bweak the curse,” Baby Matt raised the book again, like showing Foggy the book a second time would help to clear up Foggy’s confusion. “’m weading bout Seeping Beauty.  N’ the kiss. I think... I think.” He trailed off for a moment, looking frustrated, then lit up. “I think we should ‘splore all aft news.”  

“Avenues?”  

“S’ what I said.”  

“Right, uh.” Foggy cleared his throat. “This is about like yesterday, right?”  

“Yeh. Kiss pease,” Baby Matt nodded solemnly. “I’m fwee, Fwoggy,” he lifted his hand and two fingers, checked his hand, then put up the appropriate three fingers instead. “Kisses shouldn’ be a pwoblem.”  

Foggy nodded, a pained smile in place.  

Baby Matt rolled his eyes emphatically. “Fwoggy!”  

“What? I’m sorry! It’s weird! You’re my best friend, Matt! My best, male friend. Who is in his thirties. And who I actually don’t want to kiss.” Foggy leaned back, away from Baby Matt, and shifted awkwardly in his seat.  

“You feel in-sec-ure?” Baby Matt raised an eyebrow. Well, no, he tried to raise an eyebrow, but couldn’t not raise both eyebrows, instead. He didn’t have the precise muscle control to raise only one eyebrow. (Adult Matt, however, could and did raise a singular, sarcastic eyebrow. Probably more often than necessary.)  

“What do you mean?” Foggy asked.  

“Do you fink it’s gay to kiss me?” Matt asked. “Because I’m fwee.” Matt crossed his arms and continued to try and raise an eyebrow at Foggy. He also continued to fail in that he raised both eyebrows, instead.  

“Well, I mean…”  

“I’m! Fwee!” Baby Matt interrupted him. It would have been slightly more intimidating if, ya know, he could pronounce his R’s. “I’m fwee, n’ kisses can be pwa-ton-ic.”  

“You’re really not gonna let this go, huh?”  

“Kiss! Pease!” Baby Matt shouted.  

“Whoa, dude! Neighbours, shhh,”Foggy lurched forward, hands splayed and doing a nervous rendition of jazz hands at Baby Matt. Foggy almost managed to top right out of his seat in his urgency. “Shhh, we don’t want the neighbours, like, calling the police or anything. Right?”  

Baby Matt scowled at him. “Kiss,” he tapped his fat, little baby cheek.  

“Wow, you are stubborn—”  

“I’ll scweam. Jus’ tuh make twouble, Fwoggy. I will…!”  

“Okay, geez!”  

Baby Matt lit up and scooted forward, tapping his cheek in emphasis, once more.  

Foggy, against his better judgment, and the surge off embarrassment that he felt from the action, leaned down to plant a very (very (very)) brief kiss on Baby Matt’s fat little cheek. And, ya know?, the world didn’t end, Foggy didn’t get struck down on the spot, and all was still well.  

“Nuffin?” Baby Matt stepped back and spread his arms as he tried to look himself up and down.  

“Nothing,” Foggy agreed.  

“Fwoggy, can I bowwow a dollar?”  

Foggy sounded out “bowwow” a few times, to himself, before he realized that Baby Matt probably meant “borrow.” Which. Duh. “Oh, uh, sure.” Foggy stood, still a bit self-conscious over the whole thing, then pulled out his wallet to give Baby Matt a dollar.  

Matt accepted it politely, then said: “Fuck,” and handed the dollar back.  

Foggy should have possibly expected that.  

“Don’ tell Fank,” Baby Matt shushed Foggy sloppily. “He’ll call me a hippo-kit.”  

“Ah,” Foggy nodded slowly. “I won’t. Promise.” He didn’t much like talking with Castle, either way, so he kind of doubted that it would come up.  

“C’n ya put the dollar in the jar?” Baby Matt pointed toward the kitchen.  

Foggy frowned over at the kitchen, where the jar in question sat innocuously on top of the fridge, and then down at Baby Matt, again. ”Why? It’s not like he’d know if you didn’t put the dollar in the jar, Matt.”  

Baby Matt gasped at Foggy, both hands over his mouth and eyes huge. “Fwoggy! God would know!”  

Foggy blinked at him a few times.  

See, Jack Murdock was never very religious. Matt had told Foggy a bit. Not a lot, ya know? But a bit. And Foggy knew that Matt didn’t have his whole religious indoctrination until after Jack had died. Which didn’t mean much, given that Baby Matt also recognized a bunch of people he only met when he was an adult.  

Baby Matt giggled behind his hands.  

Foggy blinked back to the present. “Are you—are you messing with me?”  

“Maybe,” Baby Matt grinned up at him. “Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?”  

Foggy considered him for a long moment, then set the dollar on the table. “Well. I happen to know you’re ticklish,” he said. “Most three-year-olds are, I figure, but I remember Spider-Man tickling you, yesterday.” He gave Matt a long, solemn look.  

Matt responded with a dramatic gasp, then papped away to hide behind the couch. “You’ll never catch me!”  

Foggy spent the next hour and a half chasing Matt down as if he were a real, actual three-year-old. It was part hide-and-seek and part tickle-monster. Foggy hoped this didn’t inspire any level of baby fever in him – Marci didn’t seem like the kind of woman who had kids in her near-future plans, for one thing.  

Foggy and Matt were still playing when Castle arrived back. Foggy only noticed when he was mid-tickle after catching Baby Matt, again.  

“Oh, geez,” Foggy covered his heart. “You scared the shit out of me!”  

“Fwoggy!” Baby Matt gasped.  

“Ah, shit, I didn’t mean—shit!”  

Matt sat up, straightened out his little shirt, and held up three fingers. “Tha’s fwee!”  

Foggy smacked his own forehead.  

Under the flood of little-kid giggles from Baby Matt, Foggy heard Castle chuckle. Foggy wanted to think that it was an ominous sound, but couldn’t help but find it humanizing, instead. It was an emotion beyond “cranky and constipated,” anyway.  

“I take it you two got along jus’ fine?” Castle asked.  

“Course!” Baby Matt popped up to his feet, hands thrown in the air. “I wuvv Fwoggy! N’ Fwoggy wuvvs me! We did games n’ stuff!”  

“That’s nice, kiddo,” Castle started for the kitchen. “You got any dinner preferences?”  

Baby Matt hummed thoughtfully.  

“Isn’t it a bit early to start dinner?” Foggy asked.  

“Nah, I’m not starting it, yet. I’m doing a once-over to see if we’ll need any groceries. I’m not gonna get much more done, today. It’s time to sit back and let my contacts do some of the legwork. That just frees me up to go for a grocery run.”  

“What?” Foggy frowned. “Should you be going out? You’re kinda wanted for, like. A bunch of stuff.”  

“Yeah?” Castle glanced over at Foggy. He raised his eyebrow. “So? You think the little local shops will look at me twice? Most no one will look twice at someone getting groceries, but at the little shops, you’ve got plenty of folks outright thankful to the guy that took out local gang activity.”  

“I gots it!” Baby Matt hopped up and down, heading toward Castle and the kitchen. “I got it, I got it! I know what I want!”  

“What is it?” Castle immediately gave Baby Matt his full attention.  

That was for the best; Foggy was a bit gob-smacked at the idea of people turning a purposeful blind eye and was, therefore, not too close to managing any sort of response.  

“Pickles!” Baby Matt said.  

“Just pickles?” Castle smothered a brief laugh behind his hand, then schooled his expression back into something more neutral. “I’m not sure pickles will make for a particularly satisfying dinner, Red.”  

“Dill pickles.”  

“Well, of course. Who eats sweet pickles?” Castle made a face.  

Baby Matt giggled at him. “Ham-boogers?” he suggested.  

“Pickles and hamburgers. That all?” Castle asked. “I could make some fries. Or a vegetable. Come on, kid, you’ve got free reign to pick whatever you like.” He squatted down, to be closer to Baby Matt’s own height, and it was just another little thing that Foggy couldn’t reconcile with the picture of Castle that he’d painted for himself, inside his own head. Like... that wasn’t something that some cold-blooded killer would do, and for someone who should have been at odds with him, usually.  

Did that make sense? Foggy felt like he was thinking more and more in tightening, concentric circles, chasing his way down well-worn thought trails and trying to convince himself that those things were still true, and completely unchanged, in spite of new information he was achieving.  

Like. Maybe the reason Castle’s actions seemed to be at odds with who Foggy thought that Castle was... was because Foggy wasn’t entirely correct about the kind of person Castle was.  

“Cookies!” Baby Matt said, after a lot of hemming and hawing about the options.  

“Cookies?” Castle raised an eyebrow. “You want hamburgers, pickles, and… cookies?”  

Baby Matt nodded excitedly.  

“Cookies aren’t vegetables, little man,” Castle said. “No, no. Don’t pout at me. I didn’t say no – nor did I say yes – but I’ll tell ya one thing: you give me the pouty face and you can be sure there’ll be no cookies, kiddo. I’m not here to let you manipulate me about every little thing.”  

Foggy saw the half-pout on Baby Matt’s face turn into a little scowl and a nose scrunch. “Fine,” Baby Matt said. “Cawwots.”  

“Carrots,” Castle nodded. “See now, that’s a vegetable.”  

“I know,” Baby Matt sniffed. “S’why I picked it, Fank.”  

“Of  course it is.”  

--  

It was getting close to the time of day where Karen would relieve Foggy for the babysitting gig. Castle had already gone out for vegetables – taking Baby Matt with him, which Foggy hadn’t noticed until too late – and had come back and started on dinner prep.  

Foggy had considered chewing him out for taking Baby Matt with him, but the more he thought about it, the less he felt like telling Castle off for something that, honestly, made Castle look like less of a target, out there (being that no one expected the Punisher to be with a toddler), and which had resulted in Matt being such a bag oof smiles.  

(He did, however, complain about the huge, swirly, carnival-reminiscent lollipop that Castle had let Matt have, at some point.)  

Anyway, it was getting close to the time when Karen was going to relieve Foggy. But, you know, not quite the right time. The office wasn’t supposed to be closed for another half hour, or something like it. But there was a knock at the door, sure and bright, and Foggy’s first thought was that maybe Karen had closed up shop, early. Except that Karen would have pulled out the spare key and let herself in, so it probably wasn’t Karen.  

Foggy and Castle’s eyes met for a moment, possibly with the same thoughts. Then Foggy sighed and stood, “I’ll see who it is.”  

“You sure?” Castle asked.  

“Yeah, sure. It’s the middle of the day, so it’s probably not any of the bad guys, right?” Foggy shrugged. “I mean, sure, crime doesn’t stop when the sun rises, but it’s probably fine. Odds are in my favour.”  

Foggy walked over to the door as a second knock came, just as bright as the first knock.  

A glance through the peephole showed Foggy that there was a teen standing in the hallway; red sweatshirt, reddish-rustish-copperish-brownish looking hair that stuck up every which way, worn-in jeans, and hands in jeans pockets. He was facing away from the door, so Foggy wasn’t sure if he knew the kid or not. For all he knew, it was one of Matt’s neighbours, though, and maybe it wouldn’t look great if no one answered the door? …wait, no. Matt should have been at work, so it shouldn’t be too bad if the knock was ignored.  

Foggy was thinking himself in little circles, still, when the kid turned back around.  

He was pale, bit freckly, and had an honest smile in place. And Foggy recognized him when he saw that smile paired with those golden-hazel eyes.  

“It’s the kid—the Spider-Man guy, I mean,” Foggy informed Castle. And Baby Matt, he supposed.  

“Peber?!” Baby Matt squeally. “Is it Peber, Fwoggy?!”  

“Uh,” Foggy hesitated.  

“Peber, Peber, Peber!” Matt rushed up to Foggy, pushing between him and the door, and unlocked the door, himself. “Peber!” he squealed, one last time, and then latched himself onto Peter’s leg.  

“Matt!” Peter greeted in return. Though, thankfully, much quieter. The neighbours really didn’t need to know anything about the current state of their blind neighbour, or that there was a kid named Matt hanging around (whichever assumption they might land on).  

Peter didn’t even try to shake Matt off, he just walked into the apartment, with a grin and a nod, each, to Foggy and Castle.  

“What’re you doing here?” Foggy asked, weakly.  

“Ah, you know. College classes were done for the day, I didn’t have anything much else going on. And, like, this isn’t gonna happen every day, right?” Peter motioned at the redheaded limpet on his leg. “So, ya know. Why not? He’s not generally this happy to see me when he’s all grown up.”  

“Nooooo!” Matt disagreed, clinging more tightly to Peter’s leg. “’M always happy to see Peber!”  

“You’re a bit more reserved, when you’re all grown up, Matty,” Peter said. “I like seeing you all happy to see me, n’ stuff. It’s nothing against Big Matt, it’s just that Little Matt is all open and happy and it’s really nice!”  

“Oh,” Baby Matt pouted and lay his head against the side of Peter’s knee.  

“He’s got a big soft spot for you,” Castle piped up. “Talks about your little club and such, sometimes.”  

Peter lit up and grinned over at Castle, and then back at Foggy. “Oh. Wow,” he said, beaming. “I didn’t know that.”  

“Yeah, uh, me either,” Foggy said. He tossed Castle a brief, suspicious frown, then turned back to Peter. “Uh, what about—you know? Why’re you here alone, I guess.”  

“Wade offered to do part of my patrol for me, because I wanted to come here. And he knows he’s, ya know, not as welcome. Being a merc and all.” Peter gave a matter-of-fact shrug. “I told him that you guys put up with him just fine. Not even any really snide comments or anything. But he’s actually kind of decent, sometimes, and he didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”  

“Peber! I wanna pway!” Baby Matt shouted up at him.  

Peter smiled back down at him. “Give me a minute, kiddo, I’m talking to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Frank right now.”  

Baby Matt snickered. “Misser Fank,” he echoed.  

Peter reached down and ruffled Matt’s hair. “Aunt May raised me to be polite, Mr. Murdock, sir,” Peter said, clearly playing it up to make Matt laugh more. It worked.  

“I’m, uh. I’m sorry if my discomfort—” Foggy started.  

Peter waved him off. “People are uncomfortable with Wade pretty frequently. I can’t say it’s something Iike? But it’s not unexpected. I know his reputation, too. And I reacted pretty badly to him, the first few times I met him, too. It’s not on you or anything, especially when you’re here trying to keep your friend safe when he’s in this particularly vulnerable situation.”  

Foggy gave a hesitant nod. But he still felt a bit guilty about the whole thing. Especially now that he knew that Deadpool, himself, thought about the discomfort people felt around him.  

“Pway! I wanna Pway!” Baby Matt said, exasperated. He hooked his hands behind Peter’s knee and leaned as far back as he could, head thrown back. “Pway wiff me, Peber!”  

Peter laughed and looked down at him. “I brought some toys with me!” he said.  

Matt gasped and accidentally released his hold on Peter’s knee, which caused him to topple backwards with a pretty concerning thunk of his skull against the wood floor.  

Foggy stifled a gasp.  

Peter, though, clapped. “Oof, that was a good fall. You okay?” he asked. He had a cheery air about him, like it wasn’t a big deal.  

Foggy blinked at him.  

Matt, though, stood up, rubbing the back of his head, and just nodded, when Foggy might have expected him to burst out crying. Kids did that when they fell, right? “Hurts,” Baby Matt mumbled.  

“Yeah,” Peter gave a sympathetic nod. “You good, though?”  

Baby Matt nodded.  

“Awesome!” Peter grinned down at him, then grinned over at Foggy and shrugged. “Half of the crying reaction, to falls n’ stuff, is in reaction to adults doing the whole gasp schtick – it tells them that the fall was concerning or whatever. Like. If you’re chill, they’re generally chill. It’s not fool proof, but it works most of the time. And kids are basically rubber, ya know? They’re usually fine to just bounce right back up and go back to whatever they were doing.”  

Foggy nodded. And then registered what Peter had said right before Matt had fallen. “You brought toys with you?”  

Castle had brought back a few toys, too, when he’d gone grocery shopping with Baby Matt.  

“Oh, sure. I’ve got some Cap stuff and Spidey stuff… I didn’t have to go out of my way and buy anything, so why not, ya know?” Peter grinned.  

Foggy nodded again. He was doing a lot of that.  

“You seem to know a lot about kids,” Castle observed from the kitchen.  

Peter shrugged and spun around to face Castle. “Struggling high school student to struggling college student. Babysitting’s one way to put some extra money in your pocket, and Aunt May has this one neighbour who’s been raising her grandkids. She’s nice, and pays more than I’d even think to ask.”  

“Wait,” Foggy said.  

Peter turned back to him, again, smiling in question.  

“You said you’d graduated college last time—”  

“Oh, sure.”  

“But you also said you were done with classes, today?”  

“Yeah. Uh. First was community college, mostly taking care of prerequisites and getting a degree that I could apply to as many things as possible – in this case Business Administration – and then I moved on to a new college and a new degree program, with a Stark Industries academic scholarship for continuing education and moving over some prerequisite credits so that I wouldn’t have to retake anything remedial to my current education level—” Peter flushed a bit and coughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m. Rambling, huh?”  

“No, uh. You’re fine—”  

“Cept he’s not pwaying wiff me!” Matt sighed loudly.  

“Right! Sorry, kiddo,” Peter turned and lifted him up into the air, tossing him a few inches above himself.  

Baby Matt gave a surprised, but thrilled, cry at the suddenness of it.  

Foggy was mostly trying to figure out how this kid even had the time to be Spider-Man, if he was babysitting here, doing college there, holding down good grades so that he could keep an academic merit scholarship, and presumably holding down a job so that he could pay for an apartment. He didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would take money from someone to hold down an apartment, anyway.  

--  

Another hour later, and then some (for the time it took for Karen to get from the office to Matt’s apartment), Karen let herself into the apartment.  

She paused in the doorway, when she spied Spider-Man, in civvies, playing action figures with Baby Matt in the living room, then she replaced the spare key in its hiding spot, closed the front door, and turned the lock. “Hi, guys!” she greeted.  

“Kawen!” Baby Matt jumped to his feet, hands thrown in the air.  

The Captain America figure in his chubby little hand almost took flight, out of his grip. Key word, there, being “almost.”  

“Hey, li’l guy!” Karen said. She smiled, albeit a bit worriedly as she eyed Matt’s impromptu babysitter. Then recognition lit up her eyes. “Oh, Peter!” she said. “You’re back already. I almost didn’t recognize you.”  

Peter turned and waved at her. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, must be weird walking in and finding mystery people, here.”  

“Not because strangers never show up,” Karen scoffed. “Matt just usually hides them somewhere, I swear. He’s private to a fault.”  

Baby Matt sat back down, sticking his tongue out at Karen.  

Karen gave a fond eyeroll, then turned to the kitchen. “Whatcha makin’, Frank?”  

“Burgers and baked carrots,” Castle said. He motioned to the ceramic frying pan he was making the burgers themselves in, then to the oven. “I know it sounds weird, but my kids swore by ‘em,” Castle tacked on. His breath didn’t even hitch, for one. Just a casual mention.  

“Makin’ enough for everyone?” Karen asked.  

“’Course,” Castle scoffed. “If Parker’s boyfriend shows up, n’ Claire, even, there’s more ‘n enough to go around, and then some.”  

“He’s not—!” Peter turned, beet red, then turned back to Baby Matt, shoulders hunched. He clearly wanted Deadpool to be his boyfriend, if they weren’t already together. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Peter muttered to Baby Matt. Baby Matt just giggled back at him.  

“So you’re making enough for a small army.” Karen dropped her bag on a dinging room chair, then walked into the kitchen, herself. “Anything I can help with?”  

“Nah, ‘s almost done,” Castle shrugged.  

“Probably for the best. I can’t do too much in the kitchen, honestly. And Foggy hates my coffee, besides,” she tossed a grin over her shoulder, at Foggy.  

"Her coffee’s really bad,” Foggy nodded. “Don’t let her tell you different.”  

“But I make a really good lasagna!”  

“I will admit, she makes a pretty good lasagna,” Foggy nodded.  

“My grandmother’s recipe—”  

“Yeah, her grandmother’s recipe. Poor Grandma Page, rolling in her grave over that lovely lasagna being served to lawyers instead of future husbands – or cackling in heaven, with the knowledge that the lawyers were future husbands,” Foggy said solemnly.  

“Hey, I think the situation called for it,” Karen said.  

“Marital lasagna,” Foggy grinned.  

Karen laughed. “Marital lasagna,” she agreed. “Misused marital lasagna.”  

“Lots of virtue in it,” Foggy nodded.  

“Oh my god, shut up,” Karen sat herself on Matt’s island counter and turned to watch Frank. “Mt grandma had lots of weird thoughts about virtue and food and marriage. I can’t help that.”  

--  

Deadpool did, in fact, show up, in civvies and a deep hood that only mostly hid the intense scarring that covered his face.  

It was a bit awkward, for a few minutes or so, for Foggy to manage to look at Wade without also staring. But, once he was a bit more used to the scarring, he managed to at least hide his mild discomfort – he didn’t want to make Wade unconscious, no matter how dubious Foggy was of the whole Merc With a Mouth schtick.  

Karen was better about it, quicker.  

Castle didn’t even seem to need more than a beat to accept what Wade looked like. Granted, Castle had probably both seen and done worse. Maybe. (Or maybe that was just another unkind assumption that Foggy was making because he didn’t like Castle – attributing crimes to him that he hadn’t even done.)  

Baby Matt was pretty good about it, too. Once he realized it was Wade, he didn’t care beyond asking, “Are you cold?”  

“What?” Wade had said.  

“You have your hood on! Are you cold?” Baby Matt had asked.  

“Nahh, just shy.”  

Frankly, Foggy was impressed at how good with things Baby Matt was. Three-year-olds weren’t usually known for their sensitivity and othermindedness, anyway.  

Anyway.  

Frank served up plates with burgers and “carrot fries” or whatever – baked, oblong disks of carrot with salt and pepper – and the lot of thm spread out through the living room and dining room in order to have enough seats for all of them. Peter, Wade, and Baby took over the couch, Peter perched on one of the arms. Foggy, Karen, and Castle took over the half of the dining room table that wasn’t cluttered with Foggy’s day’s worth of paperwork.  

It was weirdly domestic, like some kind of mini family reunion, except that none of them were related to each other.  

“Oh my god, Frank,” Karen groaned and leaned over her plate, setting her burger back on the plate. She rolled her eyes once, then landed them on the man in question. “This is amazing.”  

“It’s just a burger, Page,” Castle scoffed and didn’t quite meet her eye.  

“She’s right, man,” Foggy said. Not that he particularly wanted to compliment Castle. But he couldn’t lie, and that was probably the best burger Foggy had had, like, ever. “This is amazing.” He lifted his own burger in emphasis.  

“Mazin’!” Baby Matt squealed in agreement. “Fank makes th’ bestest food.”  

Castle slouched down in his seat a bit more, rolling his eyes. “Just eat your food, kiddo. Unless you suddenly don’t want those cookies—”  

“Cookies?!” Baby Matt gasped.  

“Yeah, was gonna let you help make ‘em n’ everything,” Castle shrugged.  

“I want cookies!” Baby Matt stood up on the couch and bounced a few times. Wade had managed to get a hand on his plate before the carrots and burger went flying.  

“After you eat your dinner, little man,” Peter said.  

“Yeah, and maybe don’t bounce your food into oblivion,” Wade grinned.  

“Sowwy.” Baby Matt dropped onto his butt, bouncing another time or two, then accepted his plate back from Wade. “Thanku.”  

“You’re welcome!” Wade beamed, his grin widening pleasantly.  

“After you’ve eaten ‘least half your burger, we’ll make the cookies, yeah?” Castle said.  

“Okay!” Baby Matt threw his hands up, in preemptive celebration.  

“Oh, to be young,” Wade sighed wistfully. “To be so easily pleased by something like cookies.”  

“You mean like you with tacos?” Peter suggested.  

“Exactly like me and tacos! Wait,” Wade frowned.  

Peter laughed behind his hand.  

Wade, though, hopped up, setting his own plat on the not-Peter-occupied arm of the couch. “Guys, he’s back in the church! Quick, do something gay so he feels like he shouldn’t be writing there!”  

(Unfortunately for Deadpool, the Author – to whom he was once more referring – doesn’t feel bad writing “something gay” in a church. Couples getting touchy-feely, on the other hand…?)  

Baby Matt giggled at Wade’s antics.  

Peter, meanwhile, groaned. “Wade, come on, dude. Stop interacting with the fourth wall, for a bit. Please?”  

Wade deflated comically, dropping his arms, slouching, and pouting, all in quick succession. “Fine,” he mumbled. “But only for you, Petey.”  

Peter snorted.  

Foggy vaguey wondered if Deadpool, if Wade, was really so good at breaking the fourth wall. I mean. Peter was pretty bad at hiding his crush, honestly, but Wade didn’t seem to notice it, even though he was able to see where the “writer” was writing during a “scene.” Or knew if something happened to the writer’s laptop—  

“He’s writing on one of the fancy-shmancy blutooth keyboards, on his phone, actually,” Wade said.  

Foggy blinked, then turned to Karen. “Was I speaking out loud?”  

She shook her head.  

Foggy’s frown deepened and he turned back to Wade, who was kneeling on the couch and looking over the back, at the “adults” in the dining area.  

Wade shushed Foggy. “The other thing isn’t gonna be resolved until later. If I notice now, Zack won’t have the option of not including that subplot! And this is, like, over twenty-five k’s of words, now!”  

“What?” Foggy said.  

“A Spideypool subplot might be too much strain on the boy’s poor brain, trying to finish out this story and watching it spiral to thousands and thousands more words than planned…!”  

“Wade, come on, you just said you’d table it, for now,” Peter sighed.  

“Right, right, right. ”Wade hopped around and sat on his butt, instead, then pulled his plate into his lap. “No more fourth wall breaking. I can do that. I can be good.”  

“Press X for Doubt,” Peter mumbled.  

--  

Foggy was loathe to leave, after dinner, because he didn’t think it was the best idea to leave Karen or Baby Matt alone with three costumes, two of which were known to be killers.  

Foggy didn’t say that, of course. Not least because Karen would give him that Look and tell him that he was being overly judgmental – blah, blah, blah, Frank was a hero and helped people. Murder was still murder, in Foggy’s opinion, but it was exhausting to argue with Karen on that point, because Karen didn’t so much disagree so much as she made exceptions. Which was. Whatever. It was fine!  

But yeah. Foggy didn’t want to just leave.  

Then he remembered that he was an adult who could make his own decisions, like staying at Matt’s place longer. So, he didn’t leave. Instead, he chose to stay until at least Peter and Wade left, however long that ended up taking.  

This meant that Foggy was privy to when Peter played a game of tickle monster with Baby Matt, landing a laughing kiss on the side of Matt’s head when both of them were still in the middle of all their giggling.  

Turned out that Peter’s kiss wasn’t a True Love’s kiss, either, because Baby Matt stayed just as “baby” after that.  

Foggy was also privy to the moment when Baby Matt got his finger pinched by the Captain America action figure and demanded a “kiss it better” of Wade. Wade had tried to redirect Matt’s attention, suggest a different adult to kiss it better – “My ugly mug isn’t much good at kissing anything better, ya know, kiddo.” – but Baby Matt was singularly determined and managed to get that kiss, too.  

Wade’s boo-boo kiss wasn’t a True Love’s Kiss, either, sadly.  

Though, maybe it was for the best that Wade’s wasn’t a True Love’s kiss, breaking the spell and all. Foggy wasn’t sure if he’d be able to tolerate a Wade who ended up as Matt’s soulmate, romantically or platonically. He just didn’t have enough spoons in his entire week to consistently deal with Wade, much less on a more frequent basis.  

If Foggy was counting (which he wasn’t), that was three kisses that didn’t do diddly squat for Baby Matt’s whole… baby situation. Predictably, that meant that faerie tales were just that. Faerie tales. Unless, say, Karen or Castle were Matt’s proverbial “True Love,” the faerie tale angle probably wasn’t going to stop being just a faerie tale, not an actual solution.  

Playtime continued after that boo-boo kiss, and Baby Matt picked up the same Captain America figure that he had pinched his finger with, then continued to play with him, like he’d never been pinched by the toy, in the first place.  

Like Peter had said, earlier: kids were basically rubber and tended to bounce back without issue.  

As long as nobody around them was making a big deal about whatever happened.  

Peter embed up deciding for himself and Wade for when they were leaving, and based it on the first yawn Baby Matt expressed, in the middle of the evening.  

“Mind watching over my figures for me, Matty?” Peter asked, as he and Wade stood to go. He shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled down at Baby Matt, who still just sat there, in the middle of the living room area, the Captain America action figure that pinched him still in hand, even a few hours on.  

Matt blinked up at him. “Weally?”  

“Yeah, really-really,” Peter shrugged.  

Matt blinked at him a few times, then beamed wide, hopped up, and hugged Peter around both knees, like a baby-shaped tripping hazard. “I’ll take weally, weally good care of them! I pwomise!” he said.  

Peter laughed again, unbothered by the baby-shaped tripping hazard. He reached down and ruffled Baby Matt’s hair. “I believe you.”  

“If I could get cavities, I’d be getting cavities, right now,”  Wade cooed.  

Peter straightened (in a manner of speaking – he was perpetually a disaster bi) and swatted at Wade with a good-natured laugh.  

“C’mon, Red. Let Parker go,” Castle spoke up. “He can’t leave if you attach yourself to him like some kinda pint-sized spider monkey.” He was back on the couch, reading, but he’d moved on from Fahrenheit 451 to The Phantom of the Opera. Foggy wouldn’t have pegged Castle for a reader, in the first place, much less the kind of reader that enjoyed The Phantom of the Opera.  

Baby Matt groaned and let go of Peter, dropping backwards, away from Peter and onto the floor with a thud.  

“Better,” Castle said. “See you around, Parker. Wilson.”  

“Ew, that’s Fisk’s name,” Peter said.  

Castle made a face. “Right. Wade, then.”  

“Bye Mr. Castle!” Peter said. He took Wade by the hand and tugged him toward the door.  

“I think the writer is at some kind of family reunion, now. Who writes at a family reunion?” Wade muttered. He tangled his hand with Peter’s as he turned his attention from the “fourth wall” to Peter. “Who writes fanfiction at a family reunion?” he repeated.  

“Say goodbye, Wade,”  Peter said.  

“Goodbye, Wade,” Wade said, the picture of obedience.  

Castle rolled his eyes and went back to his book.  

Wade seemed to be talking about other “writing locations” as he followed Peter out the door. (With a side of “Damn, it’s been almost a week! Does he even remember what this scene was supposed to be about?”)  

Of a sudden, Wade was tripping back in the door and eyeballing the upper corners of the room. “That lazy fuck hasn’t written anything for another week! And last time he wrote, it was just the one paragraph!”  

Peter sighed heavily, took Wade’s elbow, and dragged him out the door.  

Baby Matt, at least, thought the whole thing was incredibly funny. Castle studiously ignored them in favour of his book. Which had to mean that he wasn’t just reading, you know? He was enjoying the book. It was a weird juxtaposition with the Punisher, the whole book-enjoyment thing, and Foggy still wasn’t sure what to do with it.  

Baby Matt seemed to know exactly what to do with it, though. He climbed back to his feet, little tongue poking out in concentration, then went over to the couch and climbed up, right next to Castle.  

“Wead to me?” Baby Matt asked.  

Castle eyed him, frown deepening slightly, then sighed and turned back to the book.  

Foggy expected him to just ignore the request, but Foggy was apparently underestimating the power of Baby Matt’s baby puppy-dog eyes.  

“Dear Mr. Manager,” Castle read out. “I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very busy, renewing—”  

“Shouldn’ it be ‘mon... sir’?” Baby Matt interrupted.  

Foggy held his breath a bit, waiting for Castle’s annoyance. But it didn’t come.  

“Nah,” Castle turned the book to Baby Matt. “The Phantom addresses the opera house’s manager as Mr. Manager, see? And down here, you can see that the writer calls the opera house manager Monsieur Firmin Richard, the M. means Monsieur.” Castle pointed at his examples, on the page. “The Mister is on purpose.”  

“Oh, okay,” Baby Matt said.  

Castle nodded and turned the book back to himself. “...renewing important engagements, signing fresh ones and generally displaying your excellent taste,” he continued.  

Foggy awkwardly realized that he wasn’t getting anything out of paying particular attention to Castle and the tiny redhead curled up into his side that Castle was reading to. Well, nothing except more proof that Castle was good with kids. And perfectly capable of defying every little preexisting notion and stereotype that Foggy seemed to have about him, so he stopped paying special attention to the two of them.  

“Fog,” Karen drew his attention back to the dining room table, where she was setting up with crocheting and some take-home work from the office.  

“Karen,” Foggy forced a grin in place, so that she wouldn’t get suspicious of him or the way he eyed Castle. Not that she didn’t already know that Foggy didn’t trust Castle.  

“You can go home, you know?” Karen raised her eyebrows at him.  

“Are you trying to kick me out, Ms. Page?” Foggy put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.  

Karen cracked a smile at him. “No, Foggy. I just think you’re hanging around when you know you don’t have to. Get some rest, it’d gonna be another day, just like this one, tomorrow, right?”  

Foggy sighed. “Right.”  

“And it’s gonna stay that way until Matt’s back to his usual, adult self.”  

“Yeahhh,” Foggy sighed again.  

“And,” Karen paused for effect. “The closer it gets to Matt’s court date, the more we should probably think about getting you prepared to take it over. You know. Just in case. I’m sure it will be fine and everything will be solved by then, but it’s better to be prepared, right?”  

“Yeahhhhh,” Foggy sighed, louder.  

There was a Baby Matt giggle and, looking over, Foggy could see that it was, in fact, a laugh dedicated to his theatrics. Baby Matt hid himself back into Castle’s side when Foggy caught him looking.  

“All right, all right,” Foggy turned back to Karen. “I’ll get out of your hair—”  

“You’re not in my hair!” Karen said immediately. She almost managed to unravel a row of her crocheting in her hurry to assure Foggy. Almost. “I just think you deserve some rest, Fog. And I know that you’re sticking around not because you need to, but because you want to keep an eye on. You know.”  

“The killer,” Castle interrupted his reading-aloud to say.  

“Fank!” Matt gasped.  

“’S the truth, kiddo.”  

“Okay, maybe a little bit? But. I mean. I can see you have it under control. It’s just—”  

“You worry,” Karen said.  

Castle continued reading the book to Matt, who was probably tucked back into his side, cozy as could be. And definitely way too comfy with the Punisher for his own good. (“The inspector, by means of a vigorous shake of the head, denied ever having seen the ghost in question. ‘Very well!’ said M. Richard coldly.” Castle even did voices for the different characters.)  

“Yeah, I worry,” Foggy gave a small, helpless shrug. “But can you blame me? Matt managed to get himself turned into a baby, Karen! And that’s probably the least trouble he’s gotten himself in for the last month!”  

“Toddler,” Karen corrected.  

“Same thing! Small human!” Foggy waved his arms at her. Then he took a calming breath. “But it’s fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Right?”  

“Right,” Karen said.  

“Right,” Foggy echoed.  

He stood there, awkwardly, for another minute or so.  

“Um, bye, Foggy?” Karen grinned at him, partly amused and partly sympathetic.  

“Right!” Foggy headed for the door, did a heel-turn and headed back to the dining room table, picked up his briefcase, then headed back for the door. “See you guys, tomorrow! Bye Karen, bye Baby Matt... Castle.”  

“Bye, Fog,” Karen repeated.  

“Bye Fwoggy, bye!” Matt shouted.  

“Franklin.”  

Foggy narrowed his eyes at Castle for a moment, then actually managed to get himself to leave the apartment and start on his trek home.  

--  

The next day, Foggy arrive to an almost scarily quiet apartment.  

There wasn’t a Baby Matt on Karen’s air mattress, attempting to read, and there wasn’t a Karen at the dining room table or a Castle on the couch. In fact, the whole place seemed to be empty, practically abandoned.  

“What?” Foggy whispered to himself.  

Then there was a thud on the roof.  

Foggy looked up. “What?” he repeated. Because people weren’t supposed to be on the roof, generally speaking. But if no one was in Matt’s apartment, and there was someone on the roof, it stood to reason that... people might be on the roof instead of in the apartment? For whatever reason?  

“What?” Foggy repeated to himself, for a third time. Then he turned and left the apartment, so that he could head up to the roof and see if the ridiculous thought was, ya know, actually right.  

And it was.  

Foggy found Karen standing in the middle of the roof, counting clearly and precisely, while Castle, Baby Matt, and what looked suspiciously like Hawkeye scrambling to find hiding spots. Foggy sighed and propped his hands on his hips, standing in front of the roof access. Rooftop hide and seek? Really?  

“Here I come!” Karen said, uncovering her eyes. Then she saw Foggy and waved. “Hey! Foggy! Guys, Foggy is here!”  

No one came out of their hiding spots. But, from where Foggy was standing, he could actually see Baby Matt’s bright red hair. Toddlers just weren’t that good at hiding. Much less toddlers with such bright red hair. It really didn’t matter if the toddler in question had been an adult lawyer less than a week before, there was something about toddlerhood that just kinda meant you’d be bad at certain games. Endearingly so, however.  

Karen sighed and rolled her eyes, big smile in place. “Hang on, Fog, we’ll catch up after this round.”  

“You want any hints?” Foggy asked, half joking.  

“No!” Karen gasped. “I’m not a cheater, Foggy!”  

Foggy begged to differ, because he was pretty sure he’d seen Karen peeking between her fingers while she was counting, but he wasn’t going to contradict her. “Cool, I’ll just wait here, then,” he said.  

Karen very purposely avoided the place where Matt was hiding, letting the toddler think he was being subtle, audible giggling or no. Even so, there weren’t a lot of places on the one roof to hide, so Karen found Barton pretty quickly, and Barton silently motioned to where Frank had hidden himself. So, all in all, it was over very quickly, even with Karen leaving Matt for last.  

“I winned?” Matt asked her.  

“Absolutely, Matt! You’re so good at this game,” Karen cooed at him.  

Matt giggled and rolled his eyes at her, but that too was endearing on him.  

“So, uh.” Foggy cleared his throat. “Can I ask why there’s an Avenger here, maybe?” He nodded over at Hawkeye, who seemed to be adjusting one of his aids. And then readjusting. And then grumbling, popping it out of place, and glaring at it.  

“He dropped it while we were playing,” Karen confided.  

“Barton wanted to check up on Red,” Castle said.  

“Uh-huh. And he just... knows who Matt is? Like Spider-Man and Deadpool do? Why?” Foggy said.  

“Hey I’m not—okay, I’m a bit deaf. But you can still ask me, ya know,” Hawkeye cut in. He stuffed the hearing aid back in place, dissatisfied with it, but didn’t continue his fiddling. At least for the moment.  

“Um, yeah. Sure. Okay,” Foggy rubbed his palms against his pant legs. He turned to Hawkeye, a bit more directly. “What, um, brings you here? Being an Avenger and all, I’d think you’d be. Busy?”  

“Yeah, yeah. And how do I know ‘Red’ and why do I know where ‘Red’ lives—” Hawkeye nodded sagely.  

“Yeah,” Foggy said.  

“Frankie asked all the same questions, but was a lot less nice about it, you know? Had a gun and everything! Never seen someone so overprotective of someone else, in my life, except back when the Winter Soldier thing was, ya know, a thing.”  

“I don’t really know, no,” Foggy murmured.  

“Brainwashed best friend. Cap was super protective. Caused a bit of a rift before some heads got knocked together. It was kind of a mess, and—yeah, you know what? Never mind. I’m here because of that phone call. Remember?”  

“Yeah...”  

“Yeah,” Hawkeye nodded at Foggy, then at Karen. “Yeah! And I knew about DD being all baby-fied, obviously. And I had to, like, see it for myself.”  

“But why do you know who he is?” Foggy asked. “Matt’s always been. Like. Really protective over his secret identity and. Just. Yeah. How do you know? And how do you know where he lives?”  

“Uh, Google Maps for the ‘where he lives,’ honestly. And he’s actually kind of shit about the secret identity. He was on national television for the Punisher case, my man. So, the one time he took his mask off around me – cowl, whatever – I recognized him almost immediately. And Matthew M. Murdock’s literally a google away.”  

“Is he?” Foggy asked faintly.  

“Yeah, we’re gonna have a long talk about not taking off masks in the middle of missions, later,” Castle groused.  

“Hey, I mean. Fair. Right?” Hawkeye shrugged. “But he’s not half as bad as Spidey is, to be honest. I’m honestly surprised Spidey even has a secret identity, with how often he’s losing the mask in the middle of fights or flights or whatever.”  

“Hey! Let’s take this down into the apartment, yeah?” Karen clapped her hands together. “I think Matty said something about being hungry?” She turned to smile down at the toddler. “And I know Frank got you some carrots and hummus to munch on. How’s that sound?”  

Baby Matt gasped appreciatively. “Thank you, Fank! Thank you, Fank!” He turned to his side, where he was stood beside Castle, already, and hugged Castle’s knee. “I wuv you! An’ I wuv hummus!”  

“Yeah, I know,” Frank rolled his eyes and did his best not to look as pleased as he clearly was.  

Foggy didn’t want to know why Frank knew which foods Matt liked, or would be willing to eat at age three. He was already beginning to sport a headache about Hawkeye’s involvement in the whole thing, and what Hawkeye might or might not know. And about how Matt apparently couldn’t keep his stupid identity a stupid secret! Or at least warn Foggy about who might know, for whatever reason.  

“Hey, chill out,” Hawkeye clapped Foggy on the shoulder. “Everything’s cool, right?”  

“Uh, no?” Foggy turned to him, smiling incredulously, while Frank – Castle! While Castle – okay, wait – maybe he could make that change in perception, after all? It wasn’t like calling him “Castle” instead of “Frank” was making him less involved in anything, after all. And it seemed like he’d be sticking around, even after the baby stuff was over and done with, whenever that was going to be.  

What was he...?  

Right.  

He turned to Hawkeye while Frank (Castle? Frank.) hefted Baby Matt up onto his hip and headed down into the apartment building with Karen.  

“No, everything’s cool,” Hawkeye said, this time as an assertion instead of as a question. “Right now? He’s a kid, sure, but he’s healthy and safe. He has people who care about him and are keeping an eye on him. You’ve got me taking the Avengers angle on finding a solution for his situation, you have Frank trying to find the witch that did this to him, and you have you and Karen to keep Nelson and Murdock running while your third partner is baby-fied. Yeah, none of that is particularly ideal, sure, but it’s cool! You can’t stress about everything, Foggy.”  

Foggy wasn’t very impressed, honestly.  

“I mean, if you want to stress about it, go ahead, I guess?” Hawkeye removed his hand from Foggy’s shoulder, grinning quizzically. “It’s not like I can actually stop you from stressing over things that aren’t helped by being stressed over. Me? I’m gonna take some pictures for blackmail purposes and just enjoy the time with a little kid I can just return when I don’t feel like playing with it anymore! It’s great.”  

He turned and followed Frank, Baby Matt, and Karen down into the apartment building.  

Foggy took a long moment to take a few steadying, calming breaths. He didn’t know what boggled him more: the Avenger telling him to chill out or the Avenger being there in the first place! What even was his life, lately?  

Calm achieved (sort of), Foggy made his way into the apartment building, too, beelining for Matt’s apartment.  

Hawkeye had taken over playing with Baby Matt, again, and seemed to be tickling him into submission, then doing one of those stupid half kiss, half fart noise things against the poor kid’s fat little cheek. Baby Matt was having a ball. Foggy was having a moment of oh no, Avengers cooties. Frank was back on the couch, book back in hand, but wasn’t reading – he was watching Hawkeye and Baby Matt, hawk-like and protective as ever.  

Just like the other times, the kiss didn’t do anything. This time, however, Foggy was kind of relieved that Hawkeye didn’t turn out to be Matt’s “True Love.” He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it relieved him, but it did.  

“What happened to snack time?” Foggy asked. He glanced around and found Karen in the kitchen. “Oh! Need any help?”  

Karen was pulling together a little veggie platter, hummus in the middle. “No, I’ve got it!” she grinned over at him. “He hates broccoli. Isn’t that adorable?”  

“Uh, of course he hates broccoli. Broccoli is evil, Karen,” Foggy said.  

“It’s just. He’s so cute. And happy!” Karen shook her head, gentle smile still in place, and went back to getting the veggie platter together. “Should I put out ranch, too, do you think? Or would that encourage ranch over hummus? The hummus is obviously the healthier choice...”  

“I dunno,” Foggy said. He wandered over, after a final glance at the (happily) shrieking toddler.  

“I’ll put out ranch later, maybe,” Karen shut the fridge. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought so much about what someone is eating. Like. Ever. Not me, not someone else. There’s something about little kids, though. You’re in charge of them, yeah? And you’re in charge of what they eat n’ stuff.”  

“Yeah,” Foggy said.  

“It makes me want to make sure his meals are balance. Even his snacks! He had granola and yoghurt for breakfast, Foggy. And a sliced banana and strawberries. It was like a little deconstructed parfait.”  

Foggy didn’t really see how that was anything special. But then again, Adult Matt didn’t eat breakfast very often – unless it was the kind of breakfast he could have on the go, or get on the way to the office. Matt sitting down to eat a whole breakfast, a whole balanced breakfast, no less? That was something. “You’re going above and beyond with him.”  

“Oh, for sure. But Frank got breakfast together for him. Told me he was making up for the pancake breakfast?” Karen’s smile softened even further, somehow.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah, Frank’s...” Karen shook her head. “He’s a good man, Foggy.”  

“Yeah,” Foggy said. He was really wearing out the word.  

“Yeah?” Karen’s gaze shot up to Foggy’s and she paused in her veggie arranging. Her eyes were wide and surprised.  

“Yeah. Maybe,” Foggy shrugged.  

“I... really thought we’d have to continue agreeing to disagree on that one,” Karen said.  

“Well, maybe I’m coming around. A bit. I mean! He’s good with Matt, anyway. Baby Matt, at least. And the injury jar is, honestly, a stroke of genius. I can give him that much. But don’t let it go to his head, or yours for that matter. I still think he shouldn’t be hanging around so much. And that he’s a murderer.” Foggy turned to glare at the back of Frank’s head. He turned back to Karen and let his shoulders loosen and drop a bit. “But... yeah, okay. Maybe he’s not as bad as... yeah.”  

Karen continued to grin at him.  

“I mean it, don’t let it go to your head,” Foggy said.  

“Foggy, he’s my friend,” Karen did a full-body shrug, then leaned most of her weight onto her hands propped on the island counter. “Of course I’m going to be happy if two of my friends start getting along! It’s nice, you know?”  

“I’m not sure he knows how to be someone’s friend, Kare,” Foggy murmured.  

“Of course he does. I mean, how’s he supposed to be a good friend to someone going through something no one could have predicted or prevented? He’s written up shopping lists, done his own shopping, taken on cooking, started reading aloud to him—”  

“Are you trying to tell me he’s a good friend to Matt? Karen, he shot Matt.”  

“That was a long time ago!” Karen whined at him. There wasn’t really another word for it: it was a whine.  

“Shot him in the head,” Foggy hissed.  

“They didn’t even know each other back then, Foggy,” Karen glanced away. She knew it was bad, and just about indefensible. Foggy could tell. “Anyway. He’s... he’s grown since then, Fog. He’s different. He’s always been good. And kind. And very sweet under all his grumble and bluster—”  

“He’d probably resent that.”  

“Yeah, probably,” Karen snorted and glanced past Foggy, presumably at Frank, then turned her smile back to Foggy. “He takes Matt to the bathroom every single time Matt needs to go to the bathroom, Foggy. That’s dedication, don’t you think? Little kids have little bladders, you know? And Matt only ever asks Frank to take him to the bathroom.”  

Foggy... hadn’t noticed that, actually. “Oh.”  

“Yeah! And when he comes back from tracking down the witch, or whatever? He keeps bringing toys, or cute little shirts or something. He dotes on Matt, Foggy. I mean, he kind of always does—”  

“What?” Foggy tried to interrupt. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up a bit, and he felt like he was miles closer to whatever it was Karen kept steering him close to, then refusing to steer him directly towards. The thing she kept dangling just out of read—  

“He kind of always does,” Karen repeated. “But he’s especially doting on little-kid Matt.”  

“Baby Matt,” Foggy corrected absently.  

“Baby Matt,” Karen agreed.  

The two of them stood there in almost-awkward silence. Then Foggy pressed his lips into a thin, wary line. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “They’re... friends. And have been for a while. And neither of you told me because you knew I’d react negatively, right? I get it, now.”  

“I don’t think you do,” Karen said.  

“No?” Foggy groaned, head leaned back, “What am I still missing?”  

“I can’t say! It’s not mine to tell!”  

“Oh my god, Karen!”  

“Hey,” Frank called over. “You two’re getting noisy. Where’s the kid’s snack?”  

“Right! Sorry!” Karen picked up the tray of veggies and hummus and carried it over. There were orange and yellow bell peppers, baby carrots, snack-sized pieces of celery, multicoloured cherry tomatoes, slices of cucumber, and snap peas, though Foggy knew – for absolute sure – that there was no way Baby Matt was going to eat the snap peas. He and Foggy agreed that snap peas were awful and should never be forced upon them. So, the snap peas were for either Karen or Frank. Or Hawkeye? But that wouldn’t make sense, being that no one had been expecting him to pop by, as far as Foggy knew.  

Speaking of Hawkeye: he seemed to be following through with the blackmail photos. If a selfie with the giggling toddler, both laying on the floor together, could be considered “blackmail” material. Mostly, it just looked kinda cute. Like something you might find on someone’s Christmas card.  

“Kid, look at this pic!” Hawkeye cooed. “You’re a natural. So photogenic!”  

“Photor-genic,” Matt agreed, grinning. He craned his neck a bit to get a better look at Hawkeye’s phone screen and the fresh selfie there.  

“Absolutely,” Hawkeye grinned.  

“Snack time, boys!” Karen called.  

It hit Foggy, a bit suddenly, just how many guys Karen was putting up with. She was a calm presence in a sea of objectively ridiculous men (and one ridiculous toddler). Foggy didn’t want to be vaguely sexist about it or anything, but he felt a bit bad for Karen and just... Karen not having another woman around while around the revolving door of random men, who were all heroes of some shade of morally grey, that seemed to be suffusing Matt’s apartment lately.  

“After snack, you want to rock-paper-scissors for who goes to Nelson and Murdock to hold down the fort, today, Foggy?” Karen asked.  

“Uh, sure?”  

“We could do it now, if you prefer,” Karen said. “But I figured you might want some of the snack, too. Matt says the yellow peppers are you favourite?”  

“Aww,” Foggy smiled, “He remembers that?”  

“Yeah!” Baby Matt shot up to his feet. “Fwoggy wikes yewwow peppers and doesn’ wike peas! The-the... the peas wiff th’ skin on.”  

“But Frank does like ‘peas with the skin on,’ so we have them, anyway,” Frank put in.  

“Yucky,” Matt informed him.  

“Look, Red. Some people like snap peas, some people don’t. Just like asparagus, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and olives.” Frank shrugged, then set aside the book he hadn’t actually been reading since they’d gotten back to Matt’s apartment. He bookmarked his page, anyway, and set it aside for later.  

“Ew,” Baby Matt informed him.  

“Suit yourself, Red. You don’t have to eat those. I’ll just eat them for you. Moe for me, yeah?”  

“Can I haff your ‘matoes?i” Matt asked.  

“’Course,” Frank made a face. “The only good tomato is the one in a sauce.”  

“Fwoggy!” Baby Matt threw his pudgy little hands up in a cheer. “Fwoggy! Fank’s gonna let me haff his  ‘matoes!” He roared his pleasure, then made a rush for the tray of vegetables (actually, though, most of it was fruit – the peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers, heck, even snap peas were technically fruit).  

“That’s great, sport,” Foggy said.  

Karen snorted.  

Foggy whipped around to look at her, “What?” he demanded. “What’s so funny.”  

“’Sport,’” Karen said, low and amused. She dodged Baby Matt, who was making grabby hands at the veggie tray, and placed the tray down on the dining room table. “I’m gonna grab some plates, Matty, hang on a second more for me.”  

Matt grinned around a mouthful of baby carrot.  

“Troublemaker,” Karen laughed. She ruffled his hair, then glanced up. She found Hawkeye with her sharp blue eyes. “Will you be staying? You’re welcome to the veggies, if you like.”  

“Thanks, Ms. Page,” Hawkeye gave her a crooked smile and a half salute.  

“Oh, just Karen’s fine.”  

“Karen, then,” Hawkeye said brightly.  

Foggy was maybe a touch jealous, for a second, there. But it wasn’t his job to keep Avengers from flirting with Karen, or Karen from possibly flirting back.  

“But nah, I should probably get going. I promised the brat I’d take him out, tonight, and I’ve got a shit ton—” (Baby Matt gave a horrified gasp, of course.) “—of things I gotta do before that. If he’s even patient enough to wait until six to start bugging me about it. And, honestly, he’s probably not.”  

“Brat?” Foggy asked. It didn’t sound like he meant a son or nephew or… whatever.  

“Boyfriend,” Hawkeye shrugged awkwardly.  

“Oh. Cool,” Foggy offered. He grinned, and tried not to feel too good about Hawkeye obviously not being interested, romantically, in Karen. Sue him. (Actually, don’t sue him – he was just about broke, at the moment.)  

“He’s basically a kid,” Hawkeye said, “Definitely too young for me, honestly. But Laura—ex-sister-in-law—convinced me to give it a shot and... I'm... oversharing.” He forced a laugh.  

“It’s fine,” Karen said, quickly.  

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed, much more amiable, after learning about he boyfriend.  

Frank took it upon himself to get the plates, what with Karen being distracted, probably.  

Hawkeye gave another awkward shrug. “Don’t worry, I’m the only Avenger that knows about Matt’s ID n’ shit.”  

Foggy thought that was pretty apropos noth—oh! Ohh. “You’re dating another Avenger, huh? Is that allowed? The inter-group dating?”  

Hawkeye gave him a brief deer-in-headlights look, shoulders raised a bit defensively, but then he relaxed again, and snorted. “Sure we’re allowed to date within the group. I think Tony’s dated most of the Avengers, however briefly. Why not? Who else is going to understand the hero life, right? I wouldn’t want to drag a civilian into things, anyway.”  

“Oh,” Foggy said. And it made sense.  

Hawkeye shrugged.  

“Who is it?” Karen asked. “Can I ask that? Is it okay to ask that?” She glanced between Hawkeye and Foggy, looking for an answer.  

Beside them, Frank sidled back up to the table, muttering to himself, and started to fill a plate for Baby Matt. He did so with an unnecessary amount of noise, which struck Foggy as petty and ridiculous. But I seemed to amuse Baby Matt, who giggled behind his little pudgy hands at Frank.  

“Oh, uh—I mean…” Hawkeye said.  

“You don’t have to answer or anything,” Karen said quickly.  

“No, it’s fine,” Hawkeye gave an abashed smile. “Um, you’d probably be most likely to know him by ‘Quicksilver,’ but uh—”  

“Fucking really?i” Frank snapped.  

“Fank!” Matt tried to sound aghast, but was still giggly from a bit earlier.  

Frank dug a dollar out of his pocket and offered it to Matt as he continued to glare at Hawkeye, who didn’t look either offended or hurt. Just vaguely bemused. Frank scoffed. “The witch’s twin brother? You’re fucking around—” he dug out another dollar and passed it to Matt, but wasn’t paying enough attention to see that it as a fiver. “—you’re fucking around with Pietro,  now, Barton?”  

Matt didn’t seem to be too bothered by the cursing, for once, looking at the five-dollar-bill as he was. Foggy vaguely remembered being small and thinking a dollar or two was a lot of money, it seemed like being a toddler gave Matt back his awe at things like that.  

“Witch?” Karen asked.  

“Different witch,” Foggy said, recalling the phone conversation from a few days before.  

A bashful, mildly dopey smile spread across his face. “Yeah, Pietro.”  

“About fucking time.” Maybe Frank had known it was a fiver, after all, and had paid ahead for a few extra curses. “Matt complains about you mooning over the stupid kid.”  

“I don’t moon,” Hawkeye gasped.  

“Obviously, you do, Frank disagreed.  

“Well. That’s embarrassing,” Hawkeye gave a flat look. But then he broke out into a smile. “But he’s kinda worth a bit of mooning. I mean, for a brat.”  

Frank rolled his eyes.  

“I’d ask how yours is going,” Hawkeye said. “But I think I know.” He turned his amusement to Baby Matt. “I’m gonna get going, kiddo. See you around.” He ruffled Baby Matt’s bright red hair, then glanced back at Frank meaningfully.  

"Get out of here, Barton,” Frank said.   

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going, don’t get your pants in a twist,” Hawkeye snorted. “See you around, Frank, Foggy, Karen.”  

“Don’t be a stranger, Clint,” Karen said.  

“No. Be a stranger. Leave me the fuck alone, Barton,” Frank disagreed. Foggy thought it was a joke, though. Maybe. It was a bit hard to tell with Frank’s steely, guarded face, which only seemed to open up for Baby Matt. Speaking of, he turned his attention back to Baby Matt and softened visibly. “We don’t need Barton around so much, do we?” he asked.  

Baby Matt looked up at Frank and broke into a grin. “I wike Barpon,” he said.  

“He’s okay,” Frank wheedled.  

“He’s fun,” Matt turned his attention back to the five-dollar-bill in his small hands.  

“I do love being a thorn in Frankie’s side,” Hawkeye said, halfway out the door. “I’ll take you up on that, Karen. See ya.”  

“Stop calling me Fr—he’s gone,” Frank huffed at the door, newly closed behind Hawkeye. He turned back to Baby Matt. “Fun? You think Barton is fun? He’s annoying. I don’t know what you see in him.”  

“You fink everybody is ‘nnoying, Fank,” Baby Matt said.  

Frank raised his eyebrows and nodded a bit. “Okay, sure. You’re not wrong, there,” he said.  

“Eben me!” Matt grinned toothily.  

“Oh, definitely, you’re the worst of the lot!” Frank said, but said it through a grin that didn’t support his words in the least. It was, quite frankly, just about too sickly sweet for Foggy to take, which was ridiculous.  

“Quicksilver,” Foggy said. “That’s the fast one, right?”  

“Yeah, speedster,” Karen nodded.  

“’Quick’ is in the name, Nelson. Seems pretty obvious, to me,” Frank drawled.  

“Come on, Frank, be nice.” Karen whacked Frank lightly on the shoulder, then turned to the veggie tray. “There’s so many heroes around, these days. It can be confusing! No need to be snide about it.”  

Frank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Quicksilver. Pietro. He’s the white-haired zippy one. Can’t stand still, a bit of a klepto, cockier than he has any right to be, thick accent. His sister, the witch, has a softer accent, assimilating or whatever.”  

“Quicksilver almost died in the one Sokovia thing,” Karen added. “I’m pretty sure they actually announced that he died and, like, hid him while he was convalescing.”  

“You two know a lot about this guy. Isn’t he, like, an Avengers second stringer?” Foggy blinked a few times and looked back and forth between Karen and Frank.  

“Heroes are interesting!” Karen laughed.  

“Clint never shuts the fuck up about him – that’s five,” he turned to Baby Matt. Matt gave him a thumbs up. Apparently he had paid ahead for some cursing. Frank turned back to Foggy and Karen. “I mean it. He’ll go on and on if you let him. And then, if you’re unlucky like me, Red’ll whine about the whole thing, which is just as irritating as Clint’s mooning.”  

It kind of made Foggy wonder how many people talked about, like, Matt. Daredevil, rather. Granted, Daredevil wasn’t even a second- or third-stringer on the Avengers team. He was, at best, probationary membership.  

(Somewhere, unknown to Foggy, Deadpool was complaining about how the “fanfiction” had been left for over a week, stagnant, while “the writer” was working on something else and at some kind of “not-convention conference thing.”)  

(Deadpool should stop complaining, though. It could be worse, the author could have completely given up on this fic, over thirty-thousand words in!)  

“Oh, hey,” Karen snapped her fingers. ”I almost forgot. Claire’s coming back, tomorrow. I’ll take the work shift at Nelson and Murdock, okay? That way I can hang out with Claire, afterwards. That means you’d be on morning duty, Foggy.”  

“Or you can both head to Nelson and Murdock,” Frank said. “I’m more’n capable of keeping an eye on Red.” He crossed his arms and eyed Foggy, probably expecting the face that Foggy would make when he suggested that he be left alone with Red.  

Foggy couldn’t quite avoid the reactionary grimace, but he thought he did okay at reigning it into a more thoughtful look, at least. “I mean... it’s been a while since more than one of us has been at the office at a time,” he said. He turned to Karen and tried, very hard, not to grimace again, but he didn’t feel very successful, especially when Karen covered an amused smile.  

“Or not,” Frank huffed. “I know how Nelson feels about my being alone with Red—”  

“I think it’d be a great idea, having both of us at the office for a bit,” Karen cut in.  

“Yeah,” Foggy managed. “It would. It would totally be a good idea. We could probably get more done if we were both there, right? And there’s a few appointments coming in, tomorrow, that could do with, uh, with some dedicated time, from one of us.”  

“From you,” Karen said. “I’m not a lawyer.”  

“Yet,” Foggy said.  

Karen laughed, once. “I don’t know where you think I’ll pull the time to study for a bar exam from. But. Sure. I’m not a lawyer, yet.”  

Foggy nodded.  

Karen nodded.  

They both turned to Frank, who had an eyebrow raised almost sarcastically at them. “What, you two suddenly trust me enough with your precious little Devil?” he asked. Matt, speaking of, had disappeared the five-dollar-bill so that he could cling to Frank’s knee, again. As much as Baby Matt loved all of them, it was pretty obvious that he liked Frank the best, at least for the clinging and cuddling and stuff.  

“It’s not like you’ve done anything untrustworthy,” Foggy admitted. Begrudgingly.  

“I think it’s a sign of the apocalypse, Red,” Frank glanced down at the tiny redhead. “Nelson’s deciding to put a bit of trust in me.”  

“Tha’s because ‘m so comfy wiff you, Fank,” Baby Matt said. And he wasn’t far off. Baby Matt’s natural comfort with Frank was absolutely one of the reasons Foggy was choosing to trust Frank. A pretty big reason. It also helped to have Karen consistently reminding him, like, of how Frank had conducted himself throughout the whole debacle – from the call he’d made to Foggy, way in the beginning, and right up to Frank’s apparently lack of resentment about all the lack of trust.  

“Yeah, so. Uh. I’ll see you around dinner, tomorrow, I guess?” Foggy turned to look down at Matt.  

“Right,” Karen agreed. “And I’ll be here overnight, so I’ll see you at breakfast – if you don’t sleep in.”  

Baby Matt gasped in offense. “I get up wiff Fank! Every time!”  

“So, I’ll see you at breakfast,” Karen nodded. “And then I’ll head to the office.” She smiled at Baby Matt for a long moment, then glanced up at Frank. “That means a pretty big dinner, doesn’t it? You, Matty, Fog, me, Claire...”  

“And probably a return of Peter and Wade,” Frank sighed and rolled his eyes.  

“And maybe Clint!” Karen beamed.  

Frank groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even Foggy could see past it, though, to the comradery that Frank had with the other heroes, however begrudging he tried to make it seem. Outwardly. Matt was, pretty obviously, the common link between Spider-Man, Deadpool, Hawkeye, and Frank, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a bit of direct comradery between Matt’s other friends and Frank, even if that tenuous friendship was probably more because of Matt than because the others liked Frank or Frank liked the others.  

Or something.  

Matt yawned and Karen stepped over to Frank and knelt down to be on Matt’s level, then. “Sleepy?” she asked.  

Baby Matt turned to her, nose wrinkled, and shook his head.  

“No? I’m tired,” Karen feigned a yawn. “See? Look how late it’s gotten and everything, Matty! I think it’s time for me to go to bed, don’t you?”  

Baby Matt gave a suspicious frown.  

“And if I’m going to bed,” Karen motioned to the air mattress in the corner of the living room area, “I think I’m gonna have to be the bad guy and make everyone else go to bed, otherwise I’ll never go to sleep. You sure you’re not tired? Because I don’t want to be the bad guy...”  

Baby Matt sniffed. “Maybe... maybe a little.” He yawned again, a bit wider.  

Foggy had to beat back a reflexive yawn, in response to Baby Matt’s yawn.  

Karen giggled, then leaned forward and put the tinies peck on the tip of Baby Matt’s tiny, round nose. Just as with every previous kiss, this one wasn’t the ‘True Love’s Kiss’ that broke Matt’s spell, or anything. Matt was just the same, but his ‘not tired’ nose-scrunch became a happy nose-scrunch, after receiving the kiss. Karen smiled at him. “Good night, Matty.” She smiled up at Frank, after. “And good night, Frank.” She straightened up. “I have a book light, if you want it—”  

“S’fine,” Frank waved her off, bent, then straightened with Matt in his arms. “I’ve got one. And it’s soft enough not to keep the munchkin awake. Yours ‘s too bright.”  

Karen snorted.  

Baby Matt yawned, for a third time, and leaned his cheek on Frank’s shoulder, fat little thumb stuck in his mouth. He waved his other hand at Foggy, though. “Bye-bye, Fwoggy. See you tomorrow?”  

“Of course!” Foggy said. “Bye, Baby Matt.”  

Matt gave a tired giggle. “Baby.”  

--  

Foggy would have liked to say that the day was completely uneventful, and that he didn’t even once think of Frank. Alone. In Matt’s apartment. With Baby Matt. Because, obviously, he trusted Frank, why would he think about that? Why would he obsess over it? Right?  

“I’m really proud of you, Fog,” Karen murmured.  

“What?” Foggy glanced over at her.  

Her smile dimpled a bit as she picked up the last few pieces of paperwork from the day’s business. “I can tell you’re worried, but you didn’t even check in! I’m really proud of you.”  

“Oh my god, I should have called to check in,” Foggy murmured, horrified.  

Karen’s laugh was sharp, like she hadn’t expected it. She looked up at Foggy with crinkled eyes and nose. “No, Fog. You did good! Frank can handle Matt. He already handles Matt, plenty—”  

What did that mean?  

“—so, it’s nice to see you... ya know... trying to give Frank a bit more trust and benefit of the doubt. I mean, you’re not going to be rid of him, anytime soon, so you may as well get along with him a bit more, right?” Karen spun around to the cabinets and filed the papers away. “I’m proud of you.”  

“You keep saying that, yeah,” Foggy said.  

Karen turned back to him, arms crossed. ‘What’s wrong?”  

“What?”  

“Come on, Fog, I know you—”  

“Nothing’s wrong!” Foggy tried to wave her concerns away, though it came across more as nervous motion than... whatever he might have been going for.  

“Foggy...”  

“It’s just! You keep hinting at things! And I don’t get it!” Foggy said. He was probably jumping the gun for admitting that, but Karen had her Disappointed Face on, and it reminded Foggy uncomfortably of his mom’s Disappointed Face. “Like-like-like... not going to be rid of him? He already ‘handles’ Matt? What’s going on with Matt n’ Frank that I don’t know?”  

“You called him Frank!” Karen beamed at him.  

“Karen!”  

She laughed. “Look, I already told you that it’s not for me to tell you—”  

Foggy interrupted her with a loud groan. A loud, pointed groan.  

“It isn’t! But I’ve dropped a lot of hints. So has Frank. There’s just... it’s all there, if you want to see it, Fog. I just don’t think you do want to see it, yet.” Karen picked up her blazer, but only folded it neatly over her shoulder. It was a touch too warm for the blazer.  

“See what?!”  

“I’m sure the pieces will all slot into place, don’t worry. In the meantime, I’m so proud of you for giving Frank a chance, and for trusting him to do right by Baby Matt,” Karen said. And, yeah, they were all grown-ups – except Matt, at the moment – but Karen always seemed extra adult in moments like that. Sure, she was also hopelessly naïve and hopeful, sometimes, but she had a sort of soothing, responsible energy when she needed it.  

“Oh my god,” Foggy scrubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, fine. Whatever. Are you ready to head over to Matt’s?”  

“Yeah, just—let me call ahead?”  

“To warn Frank that I’m headed back over?” Foggy deadpanned.  

“To see what he needs for dinner, Fog.” Karen was still laughing at him. Not, like, in a way that made Foggy feel like she was judging him, necessarily. But still. Laughing at him. “Don’t be so paranoid!”  

“Someone’s gotta be,” Foggy grumbled. But he waved her on, and she made the call.  

In the meantime, Foggy made sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. And checked Matt’s desk to see if, however many days back, he’d left something there. It was pointless motion, mostly. Just a way for Foggy to spend his nervous energy. But he found a penned note, in a sloppy scrawl, tucked under the corner of a reference book, on top of Matt’s desk. It didn’t really match with everything else – not least because it was a penned scrawl, not braille.  

Foggy’s college Punjabi courses absolutely didn’t help him with the... Spanish? They didn’t help him with the words scribbled down on the small piece of note paper. He had a feeling it was affectionate, though. “Ti amo, mio Diavolo.” The meaning was on the tip of Foggy’s tongue—  

Karen hung up her call, a grocery list newly in hand. “I have a list!” she waved it at Foggy, then walked over to him. “What’d ya find?”  

“Ah... note?” Foggy handed it to her.  

Karen glanced at it. She was already smiling, but a wider, softer smile broke out through it, as she read the note. “Aww,” she glanced at Foggy, then back at the note. Then she handed it back. “That’s probably something Matt kept on purpose,” she said. “Put it back, maybe?”  

“It was just...” Foggy motioned to the file he’d found the note under.  

“Put it back anyway. I’m sure, if he’s forgotten about it, he’ll be happy to come across it again, ya know?”  

“Why?”  

“It’s sweet!”  

“But who—”  

“Come on,” Karen took Foggy by the elbow, “We have some groceries to pick up for dinner. Claire’s already there, though, so you don’t have to worry about leaving Frank alone with Baby Matt any longer than necessary.”  

“I never said I was worried,” Foggy grumbled. He managed to put the note back, before Karen tugged him from his place, but only just. “Jeez, Karen, what’s gotten into you?” Her energy was infectious, so Foggy caught himself reflecting it in a smile. He was tempted to tamp down on the energy a bit – it wasn’t really professional, was it? – he resisted, though. They deserved a few more moments of happiness, like that.  

“Nothing! I’m just excited to see Baby Matt, again.”  

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?” Foggy nodded.  

--  

Matt’s apartment was the same as usual.  

The “usual,” however, being the new usual of “overcrowded with vigilantes that apparently knew Matt’s identity, but who Foggy didn’t know knew Matt’s identity.”  

Spider-Man, maskless, was on the couch. Deadpool, in civvies except for his mask, was seated crosslegged in front of Peter, once more playing action figure stuff with Baby Matt. Hawkeye was perched on the kitchen island counter and teasing Castle—teasing Frank while he was at the stove, preparing dinner.  

Claire had taken over Matt’s armchair and didn’t seem to be doing much beyond watching Baby Matt and Wade playing with the action figures.  

“We brought groceries!” Karen announced.  

Claire turned to wave hello. Foggy and Karen didn’t get much of an acknowledgement, beyond that, however. Frank was too busy trying to get the actual Avenger that was in Matt’s apartment for some reason to leave him alone. Clint was, naturally, very blithely ignoring all the not-at-all-subtle cues to leave Frank alone.  

Frankly, Foggy was having trouble seeing why Matt would be friends with these other heroes. Daredevil clashed less with the Punisher’s image than the rest of them – he was just so... standoffish. Set in his ways. Difficult to get along with. But here were two very mainstream, publicly beloved heroes (Hawkeye and Spider-Man) who got on with Daredevil, even working with him on cases.  

And then there was Deadpool. Yeah, Foggy wasn’t going to try and think that one through, beyond that Deadpool seemed to be a hanger-on who followed Spider-Man around.  

Baby Matt banged his action figure against Deadpool’s action figure. “Boom! Gotcha!” he squealed.  

“Oh no, ahhh!” Deadpool made the action figure give a long, drawn-out death scene, like that one red-haired vampire from the Buffy movie. Lots of dying noises and dramatic flopping.  

Baby Matt was living for it.  

Behind Foggy and Karen, there was a knock on the door.  

The house full of vigilantes, heroes, and vigilante/hero adjacents all stiffened in place for a moment (except Deadpool). Baby Matt, however, continued to be blithely unaware of everything outside the action figures.  

Foggy and Karen exchanged a look, then Foggy passed off his groceries and turned to the door to look through the peep hole.  

On the other side of the door, there was a blond guy, facing away and rocking back and forth on his heels, more absent than nervous, in Foggy’s opinion. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he was relatively sure that it wasn’t one of Matt’s immediate neighbours.  

Foggy turned back to the room. “Should I answer it?” he looked from Karen to Frank.  

“Yeah?” Karen looked over at Frank, too. “Right? It’s weirder not to, right?”  

“We expecting anyone else?” Frank turned to glare at Hawkeye.  

“No?” Hawkeye tilted his head. “Oh!” he hopped of the counter. “Maybe.”  

“Maybe,” Frank echoed, annoyed.  

“Maybe!” Hawkeye laughed. He walked over to the door.  

Foggy stepped aside to let him at the peep hole. He hadn’t been aware about how short Clint was, honestly. Like, not very short? But shorter than he always seemed when he was on the news. And blonder. More like a person than some distant hero occasionally spotted on the news.  

Clint looked through the peephole. “Yeah, okay, this one’s on me,” he unlocked the door and swung it open. “What’re you doing here, kid?”  

“I wanted to see the baby!” the guy responded brightly.  

“Pietro—”  

“Is that him?” he wasn’t blond, after all. He had white hair, except right at the roots where it was black. As soon as Foggy registered that, however, he zipped along and was over with Baby Matt and Spider-Man. “He is so small!” he cooed. “And fat! Is that your boyfriend’s shirt, little one?”  

Baby Matt leaned back to look at Pietro, then ended up toppling backwards.  

Foggy scoffed at the “boyfriend’s shirt” thing. It was just one of Frank’s tee shirts, he was pretty sure.  

Pietro squatted down and helped Baby Matt sit back up. “You are not very coordinated, little one,” he grinned. His accent was still thickly Slavic. Wanda seemed to be practicing her accent away – possibly with a speech therapist and everything – but Pietro was comfortable with himself and his Sokovian accent. Or he was too impatient to sit through speech therapy, it could have been either.  

“Hi,” Baby Matt looked up at him with wide, shy eyes.  

“Lil M! You gotta rescue the damsel still!” Deadpool broke in.  

Baby Matt squealed and turned back to Wade.  

Pietro remained squatted behind Baby Matt, watching the two of them play.  

“Are you expecting me to feed him?” Frank demanded. “His whole fucking metabolism would be a nightmare.”  

“I’m right here, Mr. Castle,” Pietro glanced up. Out the corner of his eye, Foggy saw the guy stick his tongue out.  

God, he really was young, wasn’t he. Or, rather, immature.  

“He ate before he came,” Clint said.  

“I could eat, anyway,” Pietro tacked on.  

“You could always eat,” Clint said.  

Pietro grinned at him.  

Frank clattered around the kitchen, noisily, as he got another plate and set of silverware out, using the sheer amount of noise to show his disapproval of the unexpected guest. “It’s like I’m running a soup kitchen for dumbass capes,” he muttered.  

“Spoup!” Baby Matt squealed.  

“All that soup,” Frank grumbled. He wasn’t actually making soup, though.  

“None of us actually wear capes,” Peter pointed out.  

“You’re still a cape, Parker,” Frank said.  

“I don’t have a cape! Wouldn’t ‘masks’ be more... I dunno... correct?”  

“I don’t wear a mask,” Pietro said.  

“Me either,” Clint said.  

“But I also don’t wear a cape,” Pietro said. “It would cause a lot of drag and running would be harder. It wouldn’t be efficient.”  

“You’d probably manage to strangle yourself,” Clint said.  

“Which is not half as fun as having someone else do the strangling,” Pietro tossed Clint a shit-eating grin.  

“Please don’t say things like that in front of my friends. Look at them; they’re probably going to think you like having hands around your neck,” Clint motioned vaguely around the present company. “Rather than the unfortunate truth: that you frustrate people to the point of throttling you.”  

“It is, as they say, a gift.”  

“A gipt,” Baby Matt echoed.  

Pietro smiled down at him and chattered something that wasn’t English. Foggy couldn’t identify it, but it was Carpathian Romani, cheerfully summoned from Pietro’s half-forgotten childhood.  

Baby Matt gaped at him in awe, action figures momentarily forgotten.  

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face,” Frank muttered. Foggy glanced over in time to see him elbow Clint.  

--  

The rest of the (early) evening went much the same. It focused on Baby Matt, mostly, with the adults in the room giving each other subtle jibes, even as they mostly got along.  

In spite of his earlier complaining, however, Frank didn’t seem too put out to serve a dinner to so many guests. In fact, he seemed utterly inside his comfort zone. He knew where everything in the kitchen was, he knew how the stove worked, and he seemed perfectly happy to make a large dinner that would – if not for the presence of a speedster – probably have had many, many leftovers, after the fact.  

When dinner was ready, Claire stood and plucked Matt up, out of his action figure play. “Up and at ‘em, little man,” she said.  

Matt squealed at her, delighted, then turned in her hands to demand a kiss. Unsurprisingly. He still seemed to be on his “true love’s kiss will break the curse” bullcrap. Which was endearing, if incredibly unlikely.  

Claire rolled her eyes, but places a kiss on his baby forehead, then carried him over to the kitchen, where the big bad Punisher was chopping spaghetti noodles small, so that they could be eaten with a spoon.  

Obviously, the kiss did nothing.  

Baby Matt didn’t seem too bothered by it, though, which led Foggy to wonder if, maybe, the kid was just scamming kisses out of people, or something. Not that he demanded one of Pietro, as far as Foggy was aware. (Not that Foggy expected him to – Pietro was more of a stranger than the rest of them, to both Baby Matt and Adult Matt.)  

Dinner went well enough,  except the part where they couldn’t all sit at the table (and Baby Matt insisted on sitting on Frank’s lap, in the living room area, rather than at the table). Getting rid of all the guests, even, was relatively painless. Less painless than Foggy was expecting, anyway.  

Matt personally said “goodbye” to every single person leaving his apartment, like the adorable little pint-sized host that he was.  

And then the wind-down for the day began, at least for Baby Matt.  

“I have some leads on the witch,” Frank said. He absently carded his hair through bright red toddler hair as Matt pretended he wasn’t dozing off, right next to Frank, on the couch.  

“Do you think you’ll be able to catch him and make him reverse this?” Foggy lit up.  

Next to him, Karen pouted a little.  

Foggy sort of understood. Baby Matt was adorable, and seemed to be a strong enough force to bring together his disparat friend and hero groups, under one roof. They were all basically one extended friend group, almost. Which was, ya know. New. Good, too. But—  

It would be good to have Matt back, especially with his case coming up so quickly.  

“Dunno yet,” Frank glanced down at Baby Matt. “I’ve got the leads, but it’s gonna take ‘til tomorrow, at least, to see if any of ‘em pan out.”  

Baby Matt looked back up at Frank. He popped his fat little thumb into his mouth and blinked blearily. “Kiss?” he mumbled behind his thumb.  

Figured. Frank was probably – as far as Foggy knew – the only friend, outside of Pietro who he didn’t know as well, that he hadn’t weaseled a kiss out of, yet.  

Frank ignored him and glanced over at Foggy. “Pietro’s sister, that Scarlet Witch kid, sent a message through Clint. She said she’d help me if I needed it. If I don’t pan out those leads, tomorrow, I’ll take her up on it.”  

Karen sat up a bit straighter in her armchair. “Wanda?! She’s so cool,” she grinned.  

“Didn’t she marry the robot?” Foggy asked.  

Karen reached over to whack him, where he stood. “Hey! That’s rude.”  

“Isn’t he a robot?” Foggy glanced down at her, startled.  

“The Vision isn’t just a robot, Fog. He’s a synthezoid!”  

“How is that different from a robot?” Foggy whispered. He glanced over at Frank for help. As he should have expected, Frank just offered him a noncommittal shrug, so he returned his attention to Karen.  

“It’s more like an android than a robot,” Karen insisted. “And even that doesn’t really explain the subtle intricacies of-of… you know. His intelligence! Sentience.”  

“That’s just a robot, too,” Foggy whispered.  

Karen looked offended. “You wouldn’t call Data ‘just a robot,’ would you?”  

“What do you mean by ‘data’?”  

“Like on Star Trek?”  

Foggy and Karen faced off for a long minute, Foggy growing increasingly concerned. “Like. That show Matt liked to, uh, listen to,” Foggy surmised. “I never really had the time—”  

“I know what we’re doing for the next month,” Karen interrupted.  

“That’s my cue,” Frank stood, picking up Baby Matt as he went. “I’ll put the kiddo to bed.”  

“Kiss?” Baby Matt asked, again, as he settled against Frank’s shoulder.  

Frank dropped a brief kiss in his hair, as he walked toward Matt’s room. “Good?”  

“Mm, yeah,” Baby Matt nodded sleepily. A beat later, he straightened in Frank’s arms. “Fank, m’toes ‘re buzzing,” he said seriously.  

“You probably put them asleep, kiddo.” Frank kicked Matt’s bedroom door closed behind them.  

“He’s adorable,” Karen sighed. “I almost wish he wouldn’t have to grow up.”  

“Yeah,” Foggy made a face. “But that probably wouldn’t… he’d be upset if we didn’t try our hardest to get him back to normal, you know?” he walked over to the couch and flopped down on it. “How about I stay overnight, tonight? You can—”  

Frank crashed his way back out of Matt’s room, looking startled.  

Matt followed him, looking confused. And approximately the right height for Adult Matt.  

“Um,” Frank said.  

“Oh my god, it was true love’s kiss,” Karen bounced once and clapped.  

Foggy didn’t see the connection, but he did see his friend’s unfocused eyes and appropriate age/height combination, which was a relief. If a bit confusing. “Matt!” he hopped back to his feet. “You’re back!”  

“Seems like,” Matt tugged at the hem of his shirt (Frank’s shirt) over the boxers that baby Matt had insisted on, and which Frank had made fit him with an elastic. Turned out the oversized shorts were a good idea, since they only just fit Adult Matt properly.  

“What happened?” Foggy asked.  

Matt went red.  

“Frank kissed him, Foggy!” Karen said, helpfully.  

“So did everyone else,” Foggy said.  

“Exactly!”  

The four of them froze. That voice wasn’t one of theirs. Turning, they found a beaming blue kid – young adult, at best – standing just inside the apartment door.  

“The—!” Frank pointed.  

“Witch,” the blue kid nodded.  

“What do you mean ‘exactly’?” Karen pouted a little. Which Foggy also didn’t get.  

“Seven kisses,” the witch put up seven all five fingers on his left hand and two on his right. “Seven seals for mine little spell. Thee and thine broke them all! Bravo. I knew thee capable.” He clapped, exaggerated and a bit sarcastic.  

“So it’s not true love’s kiss?” Karen asked.  

Foggy thought that was obvious. Frank was the last person to kiss Matt after all and—  

Foggy gasped, all the puzzle pieces suddenly falling together. “They’re dating!” he turned to point accusingly at Matt (and Frank). “You’re dating!”  

“Yes?” Matt blinked back at him.  

“Did you only just figure that out?” Frank asked.  

Foggy turned to Karen for help.  

Karen raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I’m pretty sure they’ve been a thing for months. I’m also pretty sure you’re the last to put it together.”  

“No one told me!”  

“No one was told, Fog,” Karen rolled her eyes, fondly. “Matt doesn’t know how to do honest, open, person-to-person communication. Especially not about relationships. If he did, that’d be great and we would have narrowly avoided a lot of problems over the years. But he’s kinda useless about that.”  

Matt made an affronted noise. “Can we table this for later, guys? There’s a witch in my house.”  

“And it’s not an Avenger,” Frank deadpanned.  

“Humans. Always so entertaining,” the witch cooed at them. “But yea. A witch. Klarion, at thy service,” he gave an overly extravagant bow. “And, to answer your question,” he straightened lazily and turned his attention back to Karen. “Love comes in many shapes and depths, if thee must know. ‘tis not all ‘true love’s kiss’ of such fairytale-romance persuasion. A proper curse, sealed in a way that love can unseal, has to take that into account.”  

“So it was true love’s kiss,” Karen surmised.  

“Seven shades of it,” Klarion nodded. “Coworkers, friends and found-family, lovers. Platonic, familial, romantic. Though, I do admit freely, a lover’s kiss is magic of itself, ‘atimes. Now I must bid thee and thine farewell. Thou and thine hast proven thyselves of superb entertainment, but alas, all shows must needs end.”  

And, with another bow, he was gone.  

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Karen muttered.  

“They’re really dating?” Foggy asked.  

Matt sighed, took Frank by the wrist, and tugged him back to the bedroom.  

Karen motioned over to them, “What do you think? And haven’t you noticed marks of a seeing person living in the apartment? C’mon, Fog.”  

“But...!”  

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a murderer. So’m I,” Karen threw her hands up. “Let’s not have another fallout like that season two thing.”  

“That’s... what?” Foggy asked.  

“Never mind. Just be a good, supportive friend. Yeah? Or so help me...” Karen gave a halfhearted attempt at a threatening glare, no doubt trying to figure out how she broke through the fourth wall to mention the most painfully depressing part of a live action show that might or might not have been about a character that, on some level, resembled Daredevil.  

“I’ll. Sure. Okay, yeah. I’ll try,” Foggy deflated a little, pouting. “Dating the Punisher. Oh my god.”  

“I mean. He’s hot.”  

“Karen, strike that from the record.”  

“He is!”  

“Karen! Strike that from the record!”