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1:
Natasha Romanoff was on a mission. A very important mission.
Head ducked low and face shadowed by her black baseball cap, the assassin skimmed the shelves, her eyes narrowed at the products there.
She had to find it. Hell's Kitchen was the last place on her list. It had to be here.
Now where the fuck was her White Russian ice cream?
Sure she could order it, and she had (with Stark's card of course) but it wasn't the same. So she'd gone to the grocery store near the tower, but it didn't hold a candle to what she usually had. She went to ice cream stands, parlors, and every city market she could find. If it wasn't in Hell's Kitchen, she was going to stab someone.
Backing away from the bottom shelves and standing up from her crouching position, she feels something soft and solid brush against her back. Turning over her shoulder, she rose a brow at the man she found there, an apology already on his lips.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." He said, turning from where his shoulder had been facing her. Natasha was more concerned about how she hadn't heard him coming, and had been the one to bump into him.
Her eyes scanned over him quickly, noticing the fading bruise at his temple, the fiery red bed head, the circular red sunglasses perched on his nose, the gnarled scars that peeks from those glasses, the five o' clock shadow along his jaw, the worn college sweater over his broad frame, and the white cane held firmly in his grip. Great, she ran into a blind man.
"No worries." She responded as if she hadn't been scrutinizing every detail she could see. Her voice was deceptively light. "I'm the one that bumped into you. Are you okay?"
The man smiled a little with his teeth, a charming look on him, and she'd assume it would disarm a weaker woman in seconds.
"Like you said, just a bump, I'm perfectly fine." He chuckled lightly, placing his cane between his feet. He didn't seem to be planning on going anywhere.
"Good." She said, turning back to her ice cream, but watching him out of the corner of her eye. He just stood there, head tilted in a curious way and moving every once and awhile. Was he studying her?
"Can I help you?" She asked, purposefully leaving the bite out of her tone. Obviously, he didn't notice.
"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me find something." His smile wilted into something almost shy, and for some reason she felt like he was lying.
"What?" She asked.
"We're in the ice cream aisle, right?"
"Yes."
"Could you get me the all natural vanilla, please?" He tilted his head again, and it reminded Natasha of the puppy's Clint kept rescuing. "Preferably the Local Farm one."
Sure enough, just slightly to the right was a pint of Local Farm's all-natural vanilla ice cream. She picked it out and checked the ingredients, her eyebrows rising at just how simple and actually natural it was, not just for the marketing shtick. She held it out and brushed it against his hand, making him jump slightly at the temperature but reach for it anyways. He smiled that becomingly suspicious smile again as he held it by his side, bowing his head in her direction.
"Thank you..."
Natasha didn't bother hiding her rolling eyes. Бог, some people were desperate. She could see how the blind thing would work on some people though. It made people feel better about themselves when they 'help' the helpless.
"Natalia." She lied easily, watching his smile turn just that bit sharper. Okay, this quest for ice cream might turn a bit bloody if she had to punch this guy for being an asshole.
"Thank you, Natalia. I'm-"
"Matt?" A voice called out a few aisles over. The blind man before her jerked his head towards it and smiled wider, calling back.
"Over here, Pete!" A man with a trimmed black beard and baseball hat much like her own appeared from a health food aisle, his hard expression softened slightly at the sight of the man across from her, and he brushed a hand along his - he had said Matt, probably short for Matthew - bicep. He had two tomatoes in his free hand, and held them up slightly.
"Hey, sweetheart? I know you've got the better nose for this sort of thing so-" His gaze snapped to Natasha when he looked up from his produce, noticing her even stance and crossed arms. Her previously unimpressed look melted away as she saw Matt lean into the other man's touch.
"Everything okay here?" Pete's voice was deep and slightly gravelly. The way he'd swept her with a look and stood just slightly in front of Matt reminded her of a man home from war. That, and the way his trigger finger twitched, she could clock him as ex-military.
"Oh, yeah." Matt grinned without missing a beat, turning his attention to the man beside him. "She was just helping me pick out my vanilla." Pete hummed in response, nodding to her in acknowledgement.
"You got the natural one ya like?" Pete murmured softly. Matt smiled to match his tone, sweet and private.
"Yeah," he sniffed slightly, scrunching his nose slightly. "And the tomato on your left is the good one."
Pete kissed his temple, just above the bruise.
"Great, thanks sweetheart."
Natasha had been listening as she searched the shelves once more, making a small noise of triumph as she found what she was looking for, brand and all.
Taking it out of the freezer, Natasha turned to leave without a second thought, and could feel eyes on her as she went. Strangely, she didn't feel the need to punch anyone for it. Just an awareness.
When she reaches the cash register, she hears Pete talking when she should be out of hearing range. "You've really got a pick up on social cues, Matty."
"What was wrong with the cues?" The blind man defended.
"I think you sounded flirty." He didn't even sound mad, just amused. Natasha found her previous annoyance giving way to that as well.
"No I didn't." Matt sounded confused.
"Yes you did. It was your tone." Pete said softly. "You gotta work on your tone."
"Damnit!"
Natasha snorted, paid for her ice cream, and kept the store name in mind.
Some people.
2:
Steve strolled down the streets of Hell's Kitchen, keeping an eye out for his favorite gym.
Fogwell's was an old and slightly run down building, but Steve liked the old-timey charm of the place. You could smell the cracked leather and wood polish of the floorboards just fine with the years of sweat and blood in the ring. Not that he cared, if anything, it brought back fond memories.
The sun had well and truly set by this point, so Steve was expecting the place to be empty when he got there.
However when he opened the door, he heard the sounds of a fight happening around the corner. Pausing, he checked that the lights were indeed off, and that he heard the muffled thuds of gloves on skin, along with grunting and huffs of air.
Furrowing his brows, Steve turned on the set of lights closest to him, a few seconds passing before they flickered to life above him. The sounds immediately stopped, followed by the panting of heavy breaths.
Steeling himself for whatever interaction he was about to have, Steve turned the corner, his eyes catching on the two figures in the boxing ring.
The one facing him was a tall man in a tight T-shirt and gym shorts, his feet bare on the mat. He had black hair that fringed at the tops of his ears and matched the cropped beard along his jaw. Cautious brown eyes stared back at him, watching his every move, his black gloves still slightly raised in front of him.
The man opposite him hadn't turned around, instead the mop of sweaty red hair was tilted to the side with his head, the muscles of his back straining against his grey tank top with every breath, his own red gloves hanging at his side.
Glancing between the two, Steve smiled sheepishly before nodding his head in a greeting and setting his bag on a bench on the opposite side of the room, sitting down to wrap his hands.
After a few minutes of hushed conversation and sardonic laughter, the normal sounds of a boxing ring continued, and Steve took the opportunity to look up from his stretching and watch them dance around each other.
And it really did look like a dance. Despite their imposing frames both men moved fluidly, ducking and weaving around each other, not shying away from kicks and blows, often using the momentum against their opponent. It was fascinating to watch.
Then before he knew it, the redhead had the taller man pinned to the ground in a chokehold, legs wrapped around his middle and a wicked grin on his lips.
Steve watched the man in his arms struggle a bit, trying to gain ground, before sighing and leaning into him, mumbling something under his breath even Steve couldn't hear with his enhanced senses.
The redhead chuckled and smirked, releasing the man when he tapped his leg from where his arms were pinned to his sides. They both stood, knocking their gloves together and grinning as they began to circle again. The redhead reminded Steve of a shark honing in on blood in the water with the way his head would move and his legs carried him seamlessly round the ring.
At one point, he faced Steve, and the lights above them lit up his face surprisingly well. He had a smattering of freckles over his cheeks and a cocky quirk of his lips. What caught Steve's attention however was the scars spilling around his eyes. His blue, foggy eyes, that didn't track any movement and stayed trained on the wall across from him.
Shit, he was fighting a blind man.
And he fought well.
One second they were twisting around each other in the ring, and the next the blind man had lunged forward, being met with blocks and punches from the other man. The longer it went on, the more hits he got in, and the more Steve saw how much neither of them were holding back. Sweat dripping from their hairlines and teeth bared from the exertion, Steve watched the men hit a lot and hit hard.
It reminded him of himself, before the serum. When he was angry and scrappy and protected people despite the asthma attacks that were sure to follow. Despite his laundry list of medical issues, he didn't let that or the opinions of others stop him. Respect swelled as he watched the man move with ease, clearly familiar with the space.
And just like that, the tall man was down again, groaning and bucking his hips as the red head planted himself firmly across his chest, arms pinned above him with that shark-like grin. All teeth and a little bit of blood.
Steve went back to his disregarded stretches, but looked back up when he heard a heavy thud. The tall man was on top now, doing his best to wrangle the twisting man beneath him. Steve huffed a small laugh and reached for his toes, appreciating the slight burn.
By the time he was done and paid attention to the strangers again, he found the blind man on a bench and a water bottle beside a folded up white cane while his buddy stood in front of him with a towel around his neck.
Steve almost turned to his punching bag when their conversation picked up and Steve saw the redhead snap something quietly. The tall man took a step closer, expression determined as he said something else. Snatching the front of his shirt and yanking him to his level without much effort, the redhead was baring his teeth in what must have been a grimace.
Steve paused, thinking for a moment he would need to break up a real fight without the gloves and restraint of camaraderie, but found himself blushing instead.
The blind man had pulled him closer, smashing their lips together fiercely and eliciting a sound from the other's throat that Steve could hear.
Looking away immediately, his blush worsened when the sounds continued, only interrupted by a gruff chuckle that he assumed belonged to the tall man.
"Asshole." He grumped.
"But I'm your asshole." Steve could hear the smile in his voice, as well as the eye roll it earned.
"'cause apparently I needed two." The other man scoffed, but Steve definitely heard a soft fondness in his tone.
Deciding that he could just use one of Tony's punching bags in the training rooms after all, he packed up and left for the door, swearing to God that the blind man looked right at him before he did, a knowing smirk on his face.
Steve's ears burned, vowing not to tell a soul about this night, because he would be relentlessly embarrassed by the team.
3:
Clint just wanted a nice, easy, normal day with his family. Was that too much to ask?
Yes. Yes, of course it was. What was he thinking? He's Clint fucking Barton.
Though in all honesty, he should have known better than to have an easy day in New York.
It had started out great, his wife and kids taking to the streets for greasy foods and every toy store they could see, his wife's hand in his as he kept his face hidden beneath a stealthy pair of sunglasses and a hat that said I like my puns intended from his son and he fucking loved it.
And then the next second he was doing a head count, finding himself a daughter short.
Panic consumed him as he scanned the area, but couldn't find her head of brown hair.
Whipping out his phone, he told Laura to gather the boys while he tracked Lila's phone. Was it an invasion of privacy? Kind of. Did she know about it and why it was important for Clint to know where she was at all times? Of course, he wasn't a hypocritical dickwad.
"Stay here." He said, before rushing down the sidewalk as the blip on his screen continued to move. His heart contracted when the blip stopped, blinking in place beside an address. Either her phone was tossed, or she stopped. He was close.
Picking up speed and not caring who he ran into or elbowed out of the way, Clint called her name as he surveyed the streets, stopping short when the sounds of a scuffle met his ears.
Cursing and grunts of pain were clearly echoing off of the alleys walls, and Clint was quick to round the brick corner.
The first thing he saw was a broad figure in a hoodie on the ground, beating the ever loving shit out of some poor scum who was already a bloody pulp. Two other bodies were littered on the ground, and Clint didn't really know if they were breathing, and he didn't care. At the sound of crying, Clint searched the alleyway, quickly clocking his daughter peeking out from behind a man in jeans and a dark jacket, red glasses over his nose and a white cane clutched in one hand while the other was held out in front of Lila.
When the last thug standing tried to advance on the blind man, he started swinging his cane at random, managing to swipe the man's feet from beneath him and slam the end of his cane into his groin once he was on the ground and placing a lucky kick to his head, rendering him unconscious.
Clint watched in awe, seeing how his girl hugged the blind man's torso and sobbed into his shirt. He held her close, placing a hand on the back of her head and patting softly. Looking back at the mouth of the alley, the hooded figure grabbed the last conscious man's hair and brought his face close to his, voice gruff and low.
"You ever think of hurting little girls again, and I'll find you. I'll find you and you won't be able to touch nothin' again, you get me?" Crying and whimpering, the man in his grasp nodded, before getting knocked out cold.
"Lila!" Clint exclaimed then, shock and fear coursing through him as he rushed to his daughter. The man in the hoodie stopped him with a hand on his chest, shielding his daughter from sight with his imposing frame.
"You know her?" He glared, eyeing him up and down. Clint understood - and was even thankful for his caution, but he just wanted to hold his baby girl close.
"Yes. Yes, she's my daughter, Lila are you okay?" He asked around the man's shoulder, tears welling in his own eyes.
"Dad!" His girl sprung to her feet, releasing her blind protector to fling herself into Clint's arms, who held her close and stroked her back carefully.
"Oh baby, baby I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry for running off." The girl cried, clutching onto his shirt. He gathered her in his arms and she wrapped her legs around his torso as he slowly stood up, still keeping her close as he watched the two men approach each other, seeming to deem him the girl's actual father. He watched them murmur to each other before the blind man held a hand to the other's face and ran a thumb over his nose, which appeared to be broken and bleeding. Clint winced in sympathy.
"Thank you." He finally spoke to them, causing both of them to turn at his voice.
"No need for thanks." The hooded man grunted, hands in his pockets, no doubt bleeding and bruised as well.
"It was the right thing to do." The redhead tacked on, a soft smile softening his features which had been filled with anger earlier as he defended a stranger.
"But you didn't have to, hell, no one else did." He said, gesturing belatedly at the crowded streets behind him. The two shrugged in response, nearly in sync.
"Well then, you're more than welcome." The blind man continued to smile, folding his hands over the top of his cane. "Are you two going to be okay?"
"I should be asking you that." Clint chuckled, glancing at the gruff man's swollen nose. "But we'll be alright. My wife is worried, and we'll be headed home after this." The blind man nodded, slipping his arm through his friends crooked elbow. He didn't even flinch at the contact.
"Well I'll be taking this one home then." He smirked at the bleeding man beside him, nudging his side. The man sighed and rolled his eyes, glaring at his friend(?) without heat.
"I'm fine, Matt." He grumbled.
"Sure you are, sweetheart." The man sassed, and Clint would be out of a job if he didn't even notice the light blush on the bearded man's cheeks and the way he looked at the blind man with glimmering admiration.
"Thank you again." Clint said as he stepped out of the alleyway, his daughter beginning to calm on his shoulder.
"No problem. Keep safe."
Clint watched them walk away until they turned the corner, shoulder to shoulder, low laughter following them through the brutal streets of humanity. But his attention quickly turned back to the girl in his arms.
She was safe, and he'd never forget their kindness.
4:
Bruce had been tasked in getting coffee for the Avengers meeting. Because it wasn't like Tony could make it- or order it, or anything else with his mountains of money nooo they send the guy with anger issues and a hatred of social interactions to get coffee. Yeah, great idea.
Sulking in line, he grumbles out the team's order and pays with Stark's card before stepping aside and waiting for his name to be called. He's not surprised when the barista doesn't recognize it, and honestly he's a little glad. Barely ten minutes pass before it's done.
"Bruce Banner?"
"That's me." He mutters to no one in particular, getting up to pick up the carrier they stashed them in. When he turned around, there was a man in a suit and red sunglasses, a walking cane in his hands. Recognition was clear in every feature of his face.
"Bruce Banner? The Bruce Banner?" He gasped, eyebrows almost to his hairline as he looked at him- well, his general direction. Bruce sighed.
"Yeah, uh, that's me. The Hul-"
"Your papers on nuclear physics is amazing." The man blurted.
Bruce could only stand there, shocked speechless.
"I'm still getting through it," the man continued, gesturing with one hand while the other held his cane. "I don't understand it too well, I didn't major in sciences. I'm going through it to help with one of my cases- I'm a lawyer. Sorry, where are my manners? Matt Murdock." He held out the hand that had been waving around, and Bruce took it in a daze, blinking owlishly.
Before the man - Matt Murdock, a lawyer that loved his research on nuclear fucking physics - could say anything more, a large man in a hoodie, baseball cap pulled low over his face and a well-trimmed black beard walked up to join them, nudging the lawyer in the shoulder.
"Hey, Matty. Got our drinks." He spoke gruffly, but softly. He glanced at Bruce. "Who's this?"
"Pete, this is Bruce Banner." Matt grinned, whispering excitedly, and Bruce watched the man's look turn incredibly fond as he gazed at the lawyer.
"The nuclear physics guy?" He asked, and Bruce flushed at the recognition.
"Yes!" The lawyer rambled on a bit more, and Bruce watched the large man watch Matt, smiling softly and nodding along, humming as he did so.
In the next ten minutes where they stood to the side of the shop and talked, Bruce answered a few of his questions, and chuckled at a few of the lawyers witty comments, surprisingly enjoying his unnecessary coffee run until eventually he had to part. The two were understanding as Matt gave him a charming smile and Peter nodded in goodbye.
As he left, he couldn't help but overhear the duo walking in the opposite direction.
"I'll read you another chapter tonight, yeah?"
"That'd be great." Matt sounded absolutely delighted.
And well, Bruce was curious, sue him. When he got back to the tower, he sat down at his desk and typed Matt Murdock into the search bar.
Dozens of articles appeared.
He found the website for Nelson Murdock & Page, reviewed some of their pro bono cases (which was most of them), and then went down the rabbit hole that was Wilson Fisk. He couldn't help but be impressed.
The further he went, the more he found about Matt Murdock as a person. He went to Columbia Law School, graduated cum laude and top of his class.
Then an article dated years back.
"Chemical Spill Blinds Local Boy in Hell's Kitchen"
Holy shit, this kid was helping people before he was ten years old. And as fates cruelest joke, he paid the price he shouldn't have had to.
And then his father died a few months later, reportedly from the mob, shot dead in an alleyway, executioner style.
Bruce felt a little green, but held him off.
He went back to their website and copied the address, before putting in a commission for a braille copy of his research book. With Starks money and his name, it was delivered the next day.
Using a pen to sign the impressionable paper in the front, so that the man would be able to run his fingers over it, he added a message beneath it, writing each letter carefully, not his usual chicken scratch reserved for notes and equations.
Figured you might want something of your own. You do good work, I wish you luck Murdock.
Bruce Banner
5:
Hydra was back in New York, and cooking up in Hell's Kitchen.
Tony lounged on the spinning chair in his lab, scouring his resources and reaching out to contacts in the area for information. Every time they try to cut it at its roots, Hydra manages to pop back up like the invasive species they are.
It's been hours, but even with SHIELD's old files, his own databases, and a coffee/scotch combo down the hatch, it takes hours to get a glimpse of Hydra's connections and new plans.
Skimming over the latest of what's-sure-to-be nonsense, something specific catches his eye as FRIDAY decodes Hydra's data. The Hand.
He's seen it before. He'd written it off as a typo or some weird code within a code situation but it has happened now too many times to just be coincidence, especially with how intentional Hydra seems to be.
Sliding it onto another holographic screen, he runs it by FRIDAY, who predictably comes up with very little. Sighing through his nose, he winces as he takes another drink of the vile but effective concoction in his mug before cross examining The Hand and Hydra through hundreds of FRIDAY's softwares, squinting at the red screens he gets as an answer.
Huffing and slouching down in his seat, Tony purses his lips in thought, trying to think of any other place he had heard it before. The Hand. That was specific, definitely a name, an organization, a terrorist group, book club, whatever you wanted to call it.
Scowling into his drink, Tony startled when a match flashed across his screen. Bringing it closer with a swipe of his hand, he sat up as his eyes scanned the words. It was one of SWORD's tabs, The Hand mentioned briefly, and only as speculation, but it brought up another headline Tony barely remembered from a few years ago.
Midland Circle.
Now that rang a bell. Hell's Kitchen too, if he recalled. Opening another screen, he typed Midland Circle and had FRIDAY organize every article that seemed relevant to his search. There was the most recent, like the buildings reconstruction, how strange its collapse had been, how it was under new management, etcetera, etcetera...
Then the time it happened. The middle of the night, police called, an officer lost an arm, civilians involved but not really, the Defenders-
The Defenders? Did he need to get a copyright claim? Jesus, some people really didn't have a creative bone in their body...
The Defenders, named by the papers (of course), were seen on the site, kidnapped a lawyer, got people away from the area, and no one died in the explosion or collapse. Daredevil, a member of the ragtag vigilante group, had gone missing for months afterwards, before reappearing killing people left and right (no one seemed to believe it was him, not when a guy in a black mask brought the 'devil' down along with Fisk, then a new devil showed up with his morals strong as ever).
Daredevil was an interesting character, that was for sure. Solo vigilante since long before the Avengers formed, he started out as The Man in the Mask, The Man Without Fear, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. That last one stuck, apparently, but it was a bit long, so Daredevil was eventually a concise decision among the news outlets. Since the Midland incident, he was back out there protecting the residents of Hell's Kitchen in his fetish suit and overrated sticks.
Still, he was probably his best bet in all of this.
Or...so he thought. It should have been easy, he was Tony fucking Stark, tracking down a man dressed as the devil beating up shitheads shouldn't have been so hard. But after weeks of trying to catch the guy, he didn't even have a conversation with him to work off of.
Daredevil was not, in fact, his best bet. Nor his only one.
Tony drew up the files he'd collected on that kidnapped lawyer from Midland. Matthew Murdock, blind since he was a kid after saving some old guy from a chemical spill and facing the consequences. Tony grimaced at the details.
Orphaned a year later, he lived at the Saint Agnes Orphanage. Once he grew out, he graduated from Columbia Law School summa cum laude before opening his own firm with his partner and best friend Franklin "Foggy" Nelson. Lots of ups and downs in the man's life, Tony had found, but he currently worked as a part of Nelson, Murdock, and Page: Attorneys at Law.
The three worked mainly pro bono cases, and have won all of them so far. What Tony found most fascinating was the Fisk case, and the motherfucking Punisher case. Though to be fair to them they had no chance of winning that one, and it was long before they were a more official firm.
Tony found some videos and manuscripts within the internet on the firm's court cases, and this Murdock guy was pretty good. He could sway the jury with a few well-placed smiles and strong words of morals, and he had it in the bag.
Throughout his digging, Tony got wind of a trial the firm had in two days, and figured the best way to get a proper feel for them was to go undercover and check them out.
The day arrives in no time, and now donned in more casual clothes (not a suit, but not sweats either), sunglasses (with FRIDAY in his ear at all times), and a black baseball hat (one he'd bought ten minutes prior), Tony marches the steps of the court house, minutes before the time of the trial.
The building was nothing out of the ordinary, as he expected. Just your regular stiff guards and stuffy lawyers in the halls, marble floors and white ceiling pillars. Walking through the open courtroom doors, Tony sat in the back row of seats in the room, sliding along the smooth wooden bench while the actual court got their papers stacked, waiting for the judge.
In the same row as him was no one but a man dressed in a large black hoodie, baseball cap (much like his own, though nowhere near as new) and a dark beard poking out of the shadow that covered his face.
Tony decides to keep an eye on him, the man with hunched shoulders and a lowered head.
However before he can put much more thought into this, the clack of a cane makes itself known as the doors open slightly behind him, and he turns his head to see the blind lawyer he'd come to see.
Matthew Murdock finds his way to the counsel tables in the front of the room, leaning in order to find his table and mutter to Foggy Nelson, already in his chair. Tony watched them seem to bicker (the blonde bickers, Murdock just smiles disarmingly and waves him off) until Murdock sat beside Nelson and they started whispering about something else.
It was taking a while, and honestly Tony was getting a bit bored. He sluggishly stood when the judge entered, and halfheartedly listened to the persecutors' argument.
And then Murdock stood.
Barely a minute in, and the court was enraptured by Murdock and his way with words, the jury swaying and damn near close to making Tony feel something for the case. He sees Matt smile like a choir boy to his audience and grin like a shark to his opposers. It was quick work.
Tony found himself slumping back in his seat, letting out a breath as the man's companion gave the closing statement, not nearly as moving, but definitely just as effective. The man beside him shifted, and Tony almost startled. He'd forgotten the guy was there.
As soon as the court was adjourned for the jury to make its decision the hoodie guy was gone in nearly a blink. Tony did his best to follow.
The man is leaning against a wall across from the doors he'd left, head still bowed, hands in his pockets. It was like he was waiting for something. Tony watched from the wall right beside the doors, pretending to be on his phone, but getting the distinct feeling he's also being watched.
It takes about five minutes for Murdock to leave the room, and Tony watches as he makes his way in the hoodie guys direction, but not directly.
"Nice work, Murdock." The hoodie guys calls out. The blind man stops in his tracks and grins, turning to the guy's voice.
"Thanks, Pete." The lawyer walked briskly in the man's direction, who pushed off the wall and met the man halfway, holding out an arm for the lawyer, as if this were a common routine for them. Hoodie guy - Pete - leaned down and whispered something in the lawyer's ear, who smirked and murmured something back. Tony activated his glasses, replaying the interaction as the pair left the courthouse, arm in arm.
"You're real sexy when you mouth off, ya know that sweetheart?" Pete had said. Tony pinched his lips, immediately aware he wasn't supposed to hear that.
"I have better examples for later, sweetheart." Murdock had responded with that smirk. While Tony left and sat in his car, he dropped his suspicion of the hoodie guy. He probably had a nasty scar, or was someone famous, though Tony didn't recognize his voice. Probably didn't want the attention, like Tony himself.
Even so, Tony saw the firm's talents first hand today, and he'd definitely be keeping tabs.
+1:
Hydra may have been cooking before, but tonight the Avengers got a report of the whole damn barbeque.
Travelling quickly by quinjet to the far side of Hell's Kitchen, the Avengers (minus Thor and Bruce, who was still off-world and unnecessary for the mission respectively) descended on top of the rooftops of the shady area, unsure of where the alert specifically came from.
"FRIDAY, what's the word?" Tony asked from within his Iron Man suit, the rest of the team stepping up to the edge of the buildings concrete roof, observing the abandoned buildings surrounding them.
"Heat signatures detected in the structure to your six. The electricity has been disconnected, though there are approximately forty-three humanoids within the building." There was a brief pause while the team processed the information before the AI spoke again. "The majority of them are unconscious and seem to be suffering from severe injuries."
"Majority? Who's taking all these guys ou-?"
In the near silent darkness where traffic was far and people were scarce, the crack of a door hitting a wall caught their attention even two rooftops away. Turning in the direction of the sound, the heroes drew their weapons, immediately wary.
Although some members had night vision equipment, most watched as a shadow of a broad figure in all black dragged two people across the ground behind him by their shirts, his pale skin ghostly under the moons light, and the skull painted across his chest as obvious as if there was a spotlight on it.
"Shit." Someone cursed, or they all did. They knew who that was. The butcher of New York, the mass-murderer and the man with the trial of the century. The Punisher.
Without a single hitch in his step, the Punisher stalked across the dark buildings roof, the men crying out weakly even in the quiet night. Only once he reached the edge did he pause to gain momentum in his arms and brace himself to toss the agents over the side of the roof, their screams echoing between the walls of the area.
Before anyone could intervene, the large window five stories down shattered below the falling men. What looked like some sort of wire burst from the black room they had led to and wrapped around the men by their ankles before they could hit the ground, yanking their legs out of their sockets and sending more screams into the air. Their bodies slammed against the side of the building before they were slowly dragged up the glass of the lower floors, and through the gaping holes now in the building.
When they looked back to the roof, the Punisher was gone.
"FRIDAY?" Tony managed to ask in the ensuing silence, unsure as to what they were walking into.
"There is now an opening in the eastern wall of the building, twenty feet above your current altitude."
"Yeah, I got that Fry, it's pretty fucking clear. I mean who-"
More screams of agony came from within the building, along with stronger sounds of a fight.
"Alright team, let's head in. We fight now, ask questions later." Steve announced, already jogging up to the next building closer to their target.
"Nothing like punching Nazi's to get your blood pumping!" Clint agreed, following him with his bow in hand. The rest trailed after them quickly, hopping (or flying) over buildings until they were directly across from the building with broken windows. It wasn't a difficult jump, especially for super soldiers and Iron Man suits, though fancy acrobatics got Clint and Natasha across just fine.
They landed on shattered glass and the mangled bones of unconscious Hydra agents laid out in the dark, blood and gunpowder reeking from the room. None of them cringed at the crunch of an arm under their boot, used to the sights of much worse, however, it wasn't exactly comforting. Tony scanned the room quickly, the vision of his suit much better than that of his companions, even with the moon at their backs. No one but them was there.
No one awake.
"They're not here." He announced, and 'they' being the unknown accomplice of the Punisher currently known for whipping cords and broken windows.
"Boss, there is activity on the floor above you."
Sure enough, the firing of a gun and shouting had resumed upstairs, bodies thumping with the impact of...well, they were about to find out, weren't they?
"Thirty-eight people now unconscious, boss. Not now including the team."
And that included the Punisher and whoever else had decided to reign hell on the Nazi's.
"Careful gang, looks like we're heading up the ladder."
With that information, the Avengers stepped into formation, Tony in the front with his suit, Clint and Natasha close behind, and Steve taking up the rear with his shield to protect them from any surprise attacks.
Filing up the staircase without light was precarious but silent, and they were quickly reaching their destination. Without a second thought, Tony blasts the door to the next floor open as soon as it comes into view, and the rest of the Avengers fan out along the wall once the brief light from Iron Man's gauntlet goes out.
Their eyes adjust just in time to see three figures in the center of the room, obviously in the middle of a scuffle. Two stood facing the Avengers, though they couldn't see their faces, and their arms raised and pulled away from the one facing them, who looked significantly smaller with his shoulders hunched and fists held up painfully.
Then the duo brought their fists forward in simultaneously, the clear crack of the guys face softer than the actual sound of his body hitting the floor and skidding to the Avengers feet.
The team stood, uneasy and unsure as to what to do. The men who now stood across from them in a room full of otherwise still bodies ("Forty-one figures unconscious, boss.") now held them at their full attention, large bodies taught and hostile. Steve sighed.
The man to the left, once they focused, was clearly the Punisher. He wore his trademark skull vest covered in blood and a matching facemask that showcased the teeth of the skull draped across his nose. The rest of his gear was stark black and tactile, the top half of his head covered in a pair of bully goggles - night vision, Tony deduced.
His friend was just barely shorter than him, with most of his face covered in some sort of helmet (cowl?) that ended at the tip of his nose. And there were horns. Two little horns evenly spaced on the helmet's forehead, just above the opaque red eyes that Tony couldn't see through even with his suit. The rest of the man's getup was red and black, looking like some sort of gimp suit, but also more protective than Castle's bullet vest.
FRIDAY automatically pulls up a file, one Tony had put together over hours of research, of trying to find the guy, and hundreds of articles and videos pop up about Hell's Kitchens very own vigilante. The Man in the Mask, the Man Without Fear, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
Daredevil.
"What the hell." Tony is the first to speak.
The vigilante's head was already tilted in his direction and angled peculiarly. Suddenly he sighed and shook his head. He raps his knuckles against the Punishers shoulder and neither of them say a word as they begin to walk towards the stairs the Avengers currently guarded, the Punishers covered eyes watching them the entire way
"Where do you think you're going?" Natasha demanded, making a tighter formation around them along with the other three of her team, Tony standing in front of the smoking doorframe. Daredevil didn't stop until he was almost chest-to-chest with the Iron Man suit, his head held high but not looking at any of them.
"You've got questions, I'm sure." Daredevil sounded exasperated, unmoving. Well tough luck, so was Tony.
"You could say that." He snarked, looking down at the vigilante, even if it wasn't by much. The vigilante's jaw set, a harsh breath leaving his nose.
"Let's get to the roof. More equal footing, and less-" his nose scrunched, mouth twisting in disgust, "-smells." He finished.
The Punisher scoffed. (If Tony didn't know any better, he'd say it almost sounded like a laugh.) Daredevil whipped his head over his shoulder and glowered.
"Are you going to let us through or not? Because it wouldn't be the first time I've jumped out the window."
Everyone seemed to look to the Punisher, silently asking 'is this guy for real?', but the intimidating man just shrugged, his arms crossed.
"Wouldn' be my first time either." He said.
They all shared a glance the best they could in the dim light, before Tony's suit whirred mechanically and he shifted away from the door. The vigilante didn't hesitate, just stepped right through the busted doorway and started climbing the stairs heavily, one at a time. As the Punisher passed, they could all feel his glare as he followed his buddy and continued to keep an eye on them as they trailed after them up the stairwell.
By the time they reached the roof, the two vigilantes had somehow gotten ahead and were already facing the door shoulder to shoulder, their feet set and legs wide in a sturdy stance while their arms crossed tightly over their chests. Daredevil's lips were drawn down in what could only be described as a disgruntled scowl, and the Punisher had an almost matching expression with his mask pulled down and his night vision goggles up to his hair, making his cold eyes to glare at them clearly.
The man in the fetish suit still had his stupid cowl on though, which, after doing extensive research on the guy, wasn't really surprising (It was scary, those red eyes not giving anything away, the edges and intricate carvings of the mask making him ghoulish and demonic).
"What did you want?" Daredevil prompted, straight to the point.
"This was an Avengers business. What were you doing here?" Natasha asked, just as curt.
"If it was 'Avenger's business', why'd we beat ya to it?" The Punisher shot right back.
"How did you even hear of it? Hydra's been underground, no one but SHIELD and Stark has been able to track them down." Steve butted in, watching the pair with a stern gaze.
"We got ears everywhere." Castle was smirking for some reason. "If someone's causing trouble in the Kitchen, we're the first to know. 'm not surprised you were so late to the party."
"And since when have you two been hanging out?"
Castle's smirk dimmed, his smile now wry instead of smug.
"I don't see how that's any of your 'Avenger's business'."
"It's our job to keep tabs on dangerous individuals, especially vigilantes like you."
"Well I think I'm a bit below your pay grade." He growled, looking like he was about to step forward when Daredevil shifted, and drew everyone's attention back to him.
"I understand that Hydra is technically your area, but they were making a ruckus and I didn't know when or if you would show up." There was something in the Devil's tone, something sardonic that made Tony's ego flare. "Hell's Kitchen is my territory, and if it's threatened by a mass nazi organization that's been around since the forties, I'm not taking my chances waiting for your little boy band to save the day."
"This little boy band stopped aliens from-"
"Destroying the world? What about Ultron? Who caused that?" As soon as the words were out of Daredevil's mouth, he was shaking his head to the indignation that was fired back from the Avengers.
"Nevermind." He interrupted them, hands on his hips and head hung low. "Nevermind, now is not the time for my grievances. What I'm saying is that you can take the credit for this one, okay? In fact, I implore you to. We don't need any more targets on our backs, and with the way you're acting, Hydra's gonna be a nuisance. So, take it. You brought them down, you knocked them out, took them in, whatever. Just let us go."
Tony and Clint glared while Steve looked between the two vigilantes curiously, clearly thoughtful, but it was Natasha that surprised everyone.
"Alright." Tony whipped around to look at her.
"What? Just like that? We can't-"
"It makes sense, and it works in our favor, Tony." She said, unimpressed. "We get credit for taking down more of Hydra's network, and the Devil gets one less enemy. It's easier for us to take it and put in the paperwork instead of fighting them."
The three Avengers looked at her with wide eyes, while the vigilantes listened with confused and cautious amusement. Tony was the first to relent, if only to get in the Devil's slight good graces and get that team up he was looking for.
"Fine." Tony sighed dramatically, shrugging just the same. "Guess the brownie points with Fury won't hurt, I'll take it."
Clint gave Tony a strange look before agreeing as well, and Steve wasn't far behind.
"Great." Daredevil sighed, his posture relaxing without any further conflict to defend himself from. Instead he turned to the Punisher, sharp teeth glinting as he grinned. "C'mon Frank, you have a promise to keep." However ominous that sounded, the Avengers were even more confused when both men smirked at the other. The Punisher got in Daredevils space, and traced the neckline of his suit, looking into the opaque red lenses of the helmet like they held something deeper than their creepy stare.
"Last I checked, you had a lot more promises than me, Red."
"Wha-"
Before any of them could get a word out, Daredevil had dragged the Punisher by his arm and kissed him straight on the mouth, their teeth audibly clacking before the man in red was running across the rooftops, cackling like the devil himself.
The Punisher reeled back, stunned for a moment by the whiplash of pain and pleasure all at once, before he was growling out through a ruthless grin as he brought his mask back up to his nose.
"Dammit, Red!" He cursed, chasing after the man with more ease than anyone expected, hopping over obstacles and not hesitating once as he jumped over alleyways.
"Did that just..."
"Yeah Legolas, that just happened." Tony answered, still a bit unsure, baffled as they all watched the two vigilantes disappear into New York's city lights.
Natasha smirked, watching them conspire over what was such a mystery to them.
But she'd let the men have their secrets, if what she dug up revealed anything, it was that they deserved it, whatever it was that they had.