Chapter Text
As far as location names go hell's kitchen was not far off.
What with the corruption, bribery, and ever present criminal activity. The filth of the streets creating a funk that never goes away. That level many were aware of, most looked away.
What was not so apparent was the supernatural element. The irony of all manner of monster, fiend, and fae congregating in the one neighborhood. Some partake in the criminal element, most just try to live as average citizens.
Some just can't do it.
To say that the devil of hell's kitchen was of a supernatural element wouldn't be wrong. However one might assume he was some form of demon, or potentially fallen angel. Set on his path to cleanse the kitchen.
That would be wrong.
Daredevil. The devil of hell's kitchen. Matthew Michael Murdock, Esq. Was a vampire. And there were only two alive who knew this, or at least he hopes so, as others who had known weren't known for being easy to put down.
Two people, and that's all. Father Lantom, his confessor, and Frank Castle, the Punisher.
It was a complicated story, Matt wasn't known for taking the easy route. One he hadn't really had the chance to tell because anyone he could was already there. The amount of times he'd almost told Foggy was still countable on his two hands, but it was for both of their safety. Foggy at least knew about Daredevil.
Until here on the rooftops with Frank.
Him and Frank were complex, but also oh so simple. Matt could smell something was different about Frank, hear and taste it too. The metronome marching beat of his heart like a drum, the smell of dog that was more wild than just a beloved pet, the growl in his throat once he started spitting his rhetoric.
Werewolf, he now knew, but even then, he knew Frank had smelt him, sussed him out, he knew who his Lawyer was, or wasn't, considering he didn't make it to the trials.
And so they'd figured eachother out, and both kept their mouths shut. And Matt had no idea why.
He's in the black compression vest and jeans, mask loose over his face. Sat leaning up against an air vent that's wafting warm air with an array of smells from the pizza kitchen of the shop below. The warm air fends off the chill, but won't fend off the rain that's sure to come. The smell of onions and garlic almost stings at his eyes through the mask and the food overpowers most of the unpleasant smells from the rest of the city. Matt stays there, eyes closed under the mask, drowsy from the waiting and warm air, unfocused in his senses.
Frank is sat on the edge of the roof, looking through his scope occasionally as they steak out. Much more sensibly wrapped up with several layers of clothing and then a blanket wrapped around himself to keep the chill off. Matt doesn't really need to be here, but it's the weekend, and he feels like if Frank didn't want the company he would have made it clear.
Frank seems to gear up to ask a question, taking a breath in, then pausing. Thinking it over, before deciding to go on.
“When’d you get turned?”
Matt considers telling, then finds a better question. “How do you know I wasn't born one?”
“The smell is different.” Frank says. Which only leads to more questions.
“How do you know that?”
“Ah-ah.” Frank chides, “You first.”
“So we're playing questions?” Matt asks, smiling at how juvenile it was.
“Yeah. If that's how you want to do it.” Frank says, amusement in his voice. Matt suspects he might be smiling too.
“It was when I was in college.” Matt says.
“Yeah?” Frank says, clearly digging for more.
“If you're after the full story, it'll take time, and at the end you'll say I'm lying.” He says.
“Werewolves and all that shit exist, I'm sure it's not that unbelievable.”
Matt scoffs, “Yeah. Maybe not.” He agrees, taking a moment to collect himself and figure out what to say.
“My senses, after I went blind, they went haywire.” Matt starts tentatively. “There was a point when I was nine that it got too much, the noise, the smell, the feeling of anything against my skin. One of the nuns had heard of someone who could help, some last ditch thing.” He remembers it, he's glad doesn't have to deal with that anymore, he'd learnt to tune and focus, be the centre of the senses. He can hear the first few drops of rain before one lands on him. It doesn't stab like it did to begin with.
“I don't know how Stick found out about me, but he must have charmed them, or enthralled them or something. He trained me to use my senses, taught me to fight under most conditions. . . My priest was the one who noticed. Father Lantom.”
Matt pauses for a moment, Frank seems to be giving him the time. The memory was so long ago, he was a child. He should have been better, should have learnt his own way rather than that man getting to him.
“Stick was secretly feeding me his blood, making me his thrall.” Matt says, hearing the tension in Frank's muscles at the word.
“He wanted a soldier. To fight some war he said was going on. . . Lantom spotted the signs, saved me, stopped Stick from coming in, kept me safe. I didn't realise anything at the time. Lantom didn't tell me about the supernatural, or vampires, or that he was one. Not till I was turned.”
Talking about it now, he can remember the feeling. He remembers it all, and has to remind himself his emotions then towards Stick were false, a result of being fed his blood. The loyalty, the fact he hadn't questioned anything, the haze and fog in the mind. It makes him feel nauseous.
He hears Frank get up and pick up his bag, the metal content clinking against each other. He drops the bag by Matt and sits down next to him. There's a crinkling as Frank unfolds a tarp and throws it over them both.
“Don't need you dying of hypothermia.” He mutters.
“Some might say I'm already dead.” Matt says.
Frank laughs a little, then lets out a sigh, deflating next to Matt. “Shit Red, that's. . . A lot. So all the shit you do, isn't even vampire stuff?” He asks. He hears the disbelief in Frank's voice. He knows Frank doesn't think he's lying, but it's a lot to take in.
Realising Frank's focus is mostly on him now he takes a moment to extend his senses outward, check that they're still alone before relaxing, letting out a heavy sigh.
“No. Just. . . Happened, I don't know what it is. Weird chemicals, some unknown supernatural element, something else. I really don't know.” Matt says.
“And vampirism, it what, didn't cure the blindness?” Frank asks, trying to toe the line between casual and nosey.
“No Frank. No light at all.” Matt says, “It improved my smell or something. Before I seemed to miss things, the supernatural smells, but I know them now.” Matt explains.
“You know, a lot of vampires think light hurts, I guess what you can't see can't hurt you.” He jokes.
Frank lets out an amused huff, shaking his head.
“Right, but you said you were turned in College. So what happened?”
Matt remembers what happened. Elektra. He hopes for both of their sake that she'd found peace, but sometimes he worries. If she was still out there what would she be doing? If he saw her again would he be able to brush her off or would he contact on the whole ‘just one more favour and then I'm done’ path he took when he was supposed to be helping Frank.
“Elektra. . . We met at a party.” He explains, “The columbia Law society or whatever it was called would set up these fancy suit and tie social parties, me and Foggy would go sometimes, get friendly with the wait staff and then stand in the kitchen most of the night.” He says, “Quieter for me, and we could sample all the food as it went out.”
“Not a bad place to be then really.” Frank says, impressed.
Matt grins, “Yeah, it wasn't a bad deal.” He says, before remembering the story he was telling, his smile dropping.
“I went to get a drink from the bar for us both, and she was there. It was a lot, expensive perfume and all, I don't know, there was just something.”
“You liked her.” Frank picks up.
“She was interesting, and exciting. I don't know, just, around her I wouldn't think sensibly, there was just this rush you know?” Matt says.
“I thought finally this was someone who didn't see me as weak, or delicate, or make assumptions. She had expensive taste, and she'd take me to different places, we boxed and sparred and it just. . . Didn't occur to me that she was leading me back to Stick.” He says remembering the adrenaline and elation of the relationship, like a drug, only for the bitterness at the end.
“It could have just been some adrenaline junkie college girlfriend, but it wasn't. She'd known Stick before me, she was jealous because Stick left her to train me. Then she forgot about it because we were having fun. Stick used her to lure me back to him. I remember Elektra saying we should go meet someone important to her, and the drive on the way to him. I even remember Stick’s smell. But I can't remember talking to him or anything.”
Frank doesn't say anything, Matt angles his head down so Frank can't get a proper look at him, even with the mask.
“Lantom saved me again, he didn't say how or anything, just that he'd come and got me, and told Stick under no uncertain terms was he to step foot in Hells.” Of course Stick had done so anyway.
“Elektra had brought me to Stick and Stick had turned me.”
“Shit.” Frank says, Matt can hear him pausing to process it all, running his fingers through his hair and then dropping it into his lap. “That's rough.” He adds.
“You sure She didn't enthrall you or feed you her blood or anything?” Frank asks.
“I'm sure.” Matt says, “She didn't.”
“Hey, I'm not saying anything against her Red, you just seem to be saying she's a big weak spot for you.”
“She is.” He admits. No point hiding it. “But I don't think she needed help with that.”
“Right. . . So then your priest had to give you the vampire birds and bees talk right?” Frank says.
“Shut up.” Matt says, feeling a smile creep onto his face at Frank's dumb joke.
“He did though.”
“Yeah. He did.” Matt says, “I told Foggy my priest was sick and I'd gone to look after him, caught up with college via videos and reading. Stuff like that. Father Lantom taught me what I'd need to do to survive, he wanted me to stay in the basement longer to be sure but I didn't want to fall too far behind you know?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Frank says, “So you went back. How'd you figure out feeding at college?”
“Foggy-”
“Wait, he knows? Did you drink from him?” Frank cuts in.
“No! And no I didn't. I don't drink from people, you know that. Just listen.” Matt hisses.
He hears Frank put up his hands in mock surrender and sighs.
“Foggy's family owns a butchers, so I started accepting the offers to visit, and sneaking into the shop at night for the blood.” he says. It sounds so silly and juvenile now, but its how he survived.
“Really? You what, drank animal blood once a month and didn't drink from anyone?” Frank says.
“I didn't. In my initial training, Stick taught me how to meditate and ignore my needs so I could have a clear mind and focus on what needed to be done.” Matt explains.
“So you used it to starve yourself.”
“I used it to make sure I didn't hurt anyone, Frank. Most pe- most Vampires when they first feed kill the person, unless they're blood bonded to a stronger vampire who can stop them. I don't want to kill anyone.”
“No matter how hard it makes it for yourself.” Frank says.
Matt scowls. It wasn't a question of hardship, it was the right thing to do.
“So what about now?” Frank asks.
“Lantom sorts out blood. I know he wouldn't bring any if it killed to. That's all I need to know.” He says.
“So, how come you can smell the difference?”
“Smell- oh, difference between turned and born right.” Frank says, “I- born vampires just have this certain smell. I can't really describe it.”
“Okay. How do you know that smell then Frank?” Matt asks.
He hears Frank gradually tense up. Clearly he doesn't want to talk.
“Okay. You don't have to.”
“Nah, no. You spilled your stuff. I'll tell you mine.” Frank says, “Just. Like you, lotta stuff that's close to home right?”
“Right, I-” he's about to say he doesn't want to pressurise Frank into telling him just because he's shared. His own turning feels a long time ago, Frank's could still be fresh.
Unfortunately he's interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. He tenses, jumping to his feet and off the building before Frank has even gotten up to follow.
He guesses he'll get Frank's story another time.